


Forget About It

by Helena_Hathaway, Jazzrockedthestage



Series: The FBI Gets Shit Done [2]
Category: All Time Low, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Paramore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Police, Alternative Universe - FBI, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Friends With Benefits, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, M/M, Police
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:19:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 35,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helena_Hathaway/pseuds/Helena_Hathaway, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jazzrockedthestage/pseuds/Jazzrockedthestage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only supposed to be a drugs bust. Just a meth lab, or a weed farm, nothing as serious as <em>this</em>.</p><p>The team go on a stakeout to gather evidence against a group of drug producers, but everything goes on a tail spin when it turns out to be a much bigger issue than originally thought. Along with long nights of spying, adventures at some suggestive clubs, and adrenaline pumping espionage, comes some additional tension of the sexual variety. Gerard still hates Frank, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little fun with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Who's Whispering Softly To Me

**Author's Note:**

> BOOK TWO!  
> [](http://s1291.photobucket.com/user/Sexy_Bread_Tin/media/BookTwo_zps061ba666.png.html)  
> 
> 
> Find the song this was named after [here](http://youtu.be/Cbw6HVkNPK8)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following a bad instinct.

“Yo Brendon,” Gerard hisses and he motions for Brendon to come closer. Brendon rolls his eyes and walks closer. They’ve been at the bar for three minutes and Gerard is already scouting for something. Probably just looking into getting himself laid, so Brendon takes his own sweet time walking over to him. 

“What’s up?” He asks before Gerard shushes him. He gives Gerard a confused look, but he just puts his finger to his mouth and gestures his head backwards.

“Six o’clock,” Gerard whispers. Brendon creases his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything. He then watches as Gerard points to his ear which means that he wants him to listen but not to look.

Brendon sighs, but leans down against the counter and perks up his ear. He doesn’t know he’s meant to be listening to or what for, but he’s learned not to question Gerard too hard when he gets like this.

It’s faint but Brendon figures out who he’s meant to be listening to. It’s two men, looking overly cautious and whispering in a hushed tone with huddled postures. Brendon doesn’t heed Gerard’s order not to look so he eyes the men carefully and inconspicuously.

One of the voices is gruff and sturdy, and the other has the hint of a southern accent, but he can hear them pretty well considering the stance Gerard has him in. Gerard’s jaw is set and sturdy, like he’s deep in concentration.

“... can’t buy any more. Too suspicious in large quantities, which is why you have to make runs out. Boss would kill you and then me if-”

“But I’m not saying we go overboard. There’s-”

“Not going to happen, I’m in charge remember,” the first man says. He looks around the bar and Brendon swiftly looks away. They don’t notice Gerard and Brendon and if they do than they are very good actors. Gerard’s pointedly staring at the wall opposite the two men, and Brendon’s eyes are focused on his own fingers.

“We should get going. Too many people,” the guy with the southern accent says.

Brendon carefully watches the two men walk slowly through a swarm of people, late night people celebrating the end of the week with cheap bear and one night stands. Brendon then feels Gerard pulling on his arm violently, and he has no choice but to be tugged through the crowd as well.

“Shit, we’ve got the night off!” Brendon complains as he’s pulled through the bar after the two men. He almost stumbles a few times because Gerard’s grip hasn’t let go and he’s walking forward without thinking about Brendon behind him.

“Yeah but we have the opportunity to stop something before it starts,” Gerard answers, excitedly. He must see himself as some sort of superhero for stopping shit before shit happens. Brendon’s always wondered if Gerard does sometimes see himself as a superhero, but he’s never questioned his boss about it for many reasons. One being the fact that Gerard is his boss after all, and another being that Gerard wouldn’t tell him the truth anyway.

“Sounded like a lab,” Brendon says, “It’s just drugs.”

“Yeah because it’s only worth the investigation if you get a dead body out of it,” Gerard frowns at Brendon. He drags Brendon out of the bar and evaluates the parking lot to see the two men getting into a grey van.

“Valid point,” Brendon says and he follows Gerard to their car, where his superior gets into the driver’s seat. Gerard eyes the grey van like a hawk out for prey until it pulls out of the lot. Gerard follows carefully and Brendon groans, upset about leaving before they even got any drinks.

It takes a few moments before Brendon says anything, but when he does, he does so extremely bitterly, “Where the hell are these guys going?”

“Looks like they’re heading out to Coney Island,” Gerard says.

“Ugh, we are not driving out there at eleven at night Gee!” Brendon complains.

“Quit your complaining, there’s barely any traffic! It’ll take, like, twenty minutes,” He says, brushing off the cranky tone in Brendon’s voice.

It takes more like half an hour, but they do eventually slow the car down, and watch the car in front of them pull into a house, but not before they grab a few bags from the backseat.

“What are two drug dealers doing at a house in Coney Island?” Brendon asks, looking as confused as Gerard feels. The two men hurry inside their house, and slam the door shut behind them instantly. 

They didn’t even look back to see if someone had been watching which means that they’re pretty confident that no one knows what they’re doing. That’s a pretty good place to have a criminal be, because that’s when they get careless and leave stupid mistakes. Gerard smiles subtly, feeling way too proud of himself for eavesdropping.

“That’s a damn good question,” Gerard answers. “I know drug money is usually good money, but it’s not good enough for a house like that.

The house is not a cheap looking house. It looks above middle class at the very least, but houses aren’t cheap around here either, so it’s probably more.

“Do you get the feeling that something isn’t right here?” Gerard asks, when he feels a shiver running down his back like a cold shower.

“Um, I don’t know, it’s cold in here,” Brendon says avoiding his question. He adjusts the air conditioning in the car to try rectifying the chilled atmosphere but it does nothing.

“No I mean, does something feel... off to you?”

“Yeah a little,” Brendon answers. He’s not sure what the feeling is, and neither is Gerard, but it’s unfamiliar and it’s unsettling. Neither of them are the kind of person to be scared by new things, but it just feels so abnormal.

Gerard can’t even begin to explain it, but something feels very wrong. It feels almost incomparable, but for some reason he’s reminded of a murky horror film. It doesn’t make any sense, it just feels strange. Like something very weird is going on.

It’s not like he expects some monster to pop out of the house and attack them with a weed whacker, he just feels like there’s something about this place that he’s not picking up on at the moment. Drug dealing isn’t the most serious of crimes this team has worked on, but something about the situation doesn’t feel like that’s all there is to it. It feels like it’s so much more serious, but Gerard just can’t put his finger as to what that is.

Brendon looks around at their surroundings, studying the darkened street. It feels almost like suburbia because the noise from the city is off in the distance. Brendon evaluates the peeling paint on the house right outside his window when he notices something.

“Hey Gerard, look,” Brendon says and Gerard turns to see what Brendon’s talking about. Gerard twists to see that Brendon is pointing to a house on the opposite side of the street from the house of the men they’re tailing. Gerard slants to look at it and sees the for sale sign that Brendon’s referring to.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Gerard asks slyly as he eyes the sign. The gears are already working overtime in his brain, and Brendon is not having it.

“There is no way the guys are going to go for it,” Brendon says curtly.

“Oh come on! We haven’t done anything interesting in forever. It’ll be like espionage!” He says, knowing full-well that Brendon is reading his thoughts.

Brendon sighs, “you’re idea of fun is very different than mine. Why on earth would I want to stare through a telescope for a week just to take in a few dealers?”

“Because it’ll be refreshing to not have to read paperwork,” Gerard says, “and there’s no way we’re getting a search warrant just for eavesdropping! The judge would laugh in my face!”

“And have every reason to!” Brendon says.

“Okay but you have to admit that _something_ feels off,” Gerard says, “and I think it’s worth checking up on.”

“The others are not going to like it. Think about Frank’s expression if he finds out you’re working on nothing but a hunch. He’s going to judge you in the same way that I am judging you now. Because you deserve to be judged, you’re talking crazy.”

“I just have an instinct okay, Brendon? I’m not willing to pass this up when I have such a strong sense that something is really off. I haven’t felt like this about anything in ages, but I’m inclined to listen, because it’s really bugging me out.”

“Gerard you’re not a psychic, nor are you Pete Lattimer. You’re instincts are nothing more than just that. It’s not a supernatural force telling you to look into this, it’s your own brain trying to frighten you into doing something stupid,” Brendon says.

“Brendon, look me in the eyes and tell me something doesn’t feel off. Tell me you don’t have that same gut feeling that there’s something really big going on here. Tell me now and I’ll drop this, and we’ll never bring it up again,” Gerard says, sure that anyone in their right mind would be able to feel that uncomfortable tension settling around the neighborhood. It’s strong, and it’s not computing at the moment, making Brendon stare at Gerard for a little while longer then would normally be appropriate.

He sighs but doesn’t protest, “You’re the boss, it’s your call. Can we go now? Pick up something from the gas station because _someone_ pulled us out of the bar before I even got a drink.”

“Alright fine, but we’re getting up at eight tomorrow no matter what,” Gerard says, to which Brendon complains the whole drive back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Also happy tenth anniversary of Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge!)


	2. Chasing A Tale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Green light.

“What do you mean, you want to run a sting to keep an eye on these guys?” Hayley asks.

Gerard had been practicing how he was going to introduce this all to the team for the past several hours and only decided to go for it when Hayley had come in, on her off day. She does that sometimes because she’s got the same amount of a social life as the rest of them do, which is to say, not at all.

“That’s it. That’s exactly what I’m saying, I’m positive they're doing something in that house I just don’t have any proof,” Gerard answers.

“He’s right, something fishy was going on between them,” Brendon says, “and I don’t like the way they’re stocking up like they’re making a lot. You can’t buy supplies in one go, you have to go to drug stores or supermarkets, pick things up in smaller dosages. Alerts are sent out immediately if anyone buys an above average limit in one place, so it makes sense to come to the conclusion that our guys are stalking up for an unfathomably large lab.”

“Yeah but still, drugs? That’s NYPD’s problem not ours,” Patrick says looking skeptical.

Hayley nods, agreeing with Patrick, “And hardened criminals owning a beach house on Coney Island? I just don’t buy that.”

“Have you seen drug money? You could put a kid through college if you’ve got enough stock and if it’s good quality,” Gerard says. He’d done some narc work back in his earlier days as a cop, but that was a while ago. He still remembered some of that job though, and drug money is very good money indeed.

“You know a lot about drugs,” Frank says raising an eyebrow, like he’s found some Achilles heel of Gerard’s.

“I went undercover for a while,” he says with a wave of his hand. It’s nothing more than it seems though, so Franks looking too much into it.

“I’m just not sold on it,” Hayley states.

“I don’t know guys, I just have a really strong feeling about this. There’s something else going on here, I’m positive of it, I just don’t know what it is yet,” Gerard says, and the feeling on the back of his neck creeps up again, like he’s missing something so completely obvious, but there just doesn’t seem to be a reason for that feeling to be there.

“Did you already ask for a warrant?” Hayley sighs.

“I went over to ask this morning, but ‘I have a feeling’ isn’t really going to cut it,” Gerard says, “that’s why I want to do some spying. The judge didn’t look to happy when I asked for the warrant so it’s unlikely. It’s just not a good enough case yet.”

“No, well that’s true because it’s a stupid fucking thing to ask,” Frank says, and Gerard gives him a distasteful glare.

“Well me and Brendon noticed the for sale sign across the way, and I think it’s a perfect angle to get some sort of evidence,” Gerard says. “We just have to gather enough recon, maybe a glimpse of the goods, and we’ll have it in the bag. There’s a lot of drugs there guys, think about the people we could be helping if we stop a major seller before they have the time to even sell.”

“Why do you care so much about it? Drugs are a lot less important than murders Gerard,” Hayley points out.

“I can’t explain it, okay? I just got this feeling about that house, and those men. Like you do when you’re watching a horror film and you know something really bad is about to happen. I can’t describe it and if I could you wouldn’t want me to. It wigged me out.”

“Yeah because Jason was waiting behind a bush to chop your head off,” Frank sneers. That’s exactly the reaction Gerard was worried he’d get from Frank.

“No not like that at all,” Brendon says shaking his head, “there was something, he’s not kidding. Like I can’t even begin to explain it but something felt... _wrong_.”

“Exactly!” Gerard says looking ecstatic that Brendon is backing him up on this, because he was worried for a minute there that he had imagined that whole thing.

“Oh great so both of you had these strange feelings,” Hayley asks, making a disbelieving face as she says it. “I suppose you had a psychic vision?”

“You could be a little more polite, I am your boss,” Gerard says, looking at her, and Frank snorts. Gerard sends him another evil glare, but he doesn’t seem to fazed by it

Brendon tries to add on to the case, “It can’t really hurt. If it’s drugs then we’ll be able to take these guys down for that at least.”

“It’s a waste of resources,” Patrick says, still looking unsure.

“I’ll go talk with Reyes about it then,” Gerard states and he walks away confidently. The department director happens to like Gerard, so it’s not entirely impossible that they’ll get permission. Gerard’s instincts are his responsibility, and if does end up being a bad lead, then it’s on Gerard not the others.

Patrick makes a face, “wonder how that’s going to turn out.”

“I don’t know,” Brendon says, “Gerard’s pretty persuasive when he wants to be.”

“I doubt that,” Frank snorts and he returns to his cubicle.

“Well I’ll do whatever you tell me I am to do, but if this all turns sour, then on Gerard’s head be it,” Hayley says.

“Fair enough,” Brendon says, and he gives Patrick a worried stare. He just shrugs and gets back to doing some paperwork.

It’s only ten minutes later when Gerard returns looking happy, but more smug than anything else.

“You got approval?” Hayley asks looking up, somewhat shocked.

“Yep, he green lighted us. He’s calling the sellers right now to take the house off the market for a little while,” Gerard says, “homeowners probably wouldn’t like living across from a meth lab anyway.”

“So what’d you say, to get him to go for it?”

“Just told him that they looked suspicious and that I wanted to break in the new guy a little more,” He says giving Frank slanted and evil eyes.

“Oh really? And by break in do you mean physically break?” Hayley asks.

“Well if that ends up being a repercussion then it’s just collateral damage,” Gerard says, twisting a grin as he looks at Frank scornful face.

Frank starts, “You motherfu-”

“Hey, hey,” Patrick interrupts and then shrugs and asks, “Alright, when do we start?”

“We’re a go for some time in a few hours, so prepare for a little tanning guys, because we are going to the beach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More yelling and arguments to come! Comment maybe?


	3. Thorns and A Cheap Bouquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of yearned after murder.

“I’ve been debating who is going to kill you first, Frank or Hayley,” Brendon says to Gerard who’s in the driver’s seat of his car.

“Probably Hayley, because I’m not going to let that short stack get the best of me,” Gerard replies.

“You two should really invest in some sort of work therapy, because it’s getting a little insane.”

“What can I say, I hate him. I hate him the same way I hate it when your ear buds get stuck in the wheel of a rolling chair,” Gerard says.

“Whoa dude. That _much_? Really?” Brendon asks.

“You have no idea.”

Gerard and Brendon are getting to the house first, and only they are going to be parking their car in the front of the house, otherwise it’ll look suspicious. Brendon left Patrick his keys so that he can come later and enter around the back, but they’re going to switch off nightly. Hayley won’t be getting to the house until tomorrow because she’s staying back at the office. Gerard and Brendon are going to be on watch until dinner, and then the other two or three, respectively, have night watch. Schedules will probably mix up a few times if they have to stay a while, but so far that’s the plan.

Thankfully the house comes fully-furnished, but it’s minimal so they don’t have much, but it’s enough. None of them are entirely sure how it’s going to work since they’ve really never done much of anything like this, but it should be pretty basic. They’re not all going to be sleeping at the house every day, but it looks like they will be the first night.

“Oh god I wish we were just looking for a murderer or something,” Brendon complains as he sits back in his seat, “we’re not in fucking narcotics! I’m not a part of the LAPD. They’d be so much better at this.”

“You know they’ll run into jurisdiction problems and besides, narcs are of better use in the Bronx. Quit your complaining, it won’t be too hard.”

“Too hard, no, but it’s going to be so boring!”

Gerard rolls his eyes, and is glad to see that they’re nearly to the house, but it’s taking longer because of the time of day, “if you keep it quiet, then you can play music, but I swear to god if you make us look suspicious I will disembowel you.”

“Ow. Ew. That’s gross,” Brendon replies.

Gerard laughs and teases, “So is your face, so get a paper bag or something.”

Brendon fakes a laugh and then flips him off, “love you too jackass.”

They get to the house at a quarter to noon, and there aren’t that many people up and about on the street. It’s a pretty quiet little neighborhood which is a strange sort of a place to cook drugs. The team still isn’t positive what kind of lab they’re running, but it’s almost definitely not weed. That shit is grown, not made. Gerard would guess cocaine or heroin.

“When are the others getting here again?” Brendon asks.

“What time is it now?” Gerard asks and Brendon gives him the time, “then they’ll be here in under an hour.”

“Got it,” Brendon says, as Gerard is setting up equipment in the upper bedroom where the best vantage point is. There’s four bedrooms which is quite a bit, and so far they’ve designated this one to be the best place to keep all their spying stuff. Brendon and Gerard get the bedroom adjacent to the spying room, Frank and Patrick get the one downstairs next to the kitchen, and Hayley gets the last one upstairs. That is if any of them get to actually sleep. They can’t mess too much up because they’re only going to have the house for a little while.

“Heard a car out back,” Brendon says half an hour later. 

“You go let them in, I’ll stay here,” Gerard replies. When he thinks about this a little too hard it feels like voyeurism, which is why he’s decided not to think about it too hard. 

Gerard doesn’t hear anything for a few minutes and then he hears the door downstairs slamming, and the loud voice of Frank. He’s honestly not sure what’s going on down there but he decides not to think too much about it. Frank has an obnoxious voice. By obnoxious, he actually kind of likes the way it sounds, but it’s annoying because he _wants_ to hate it.

“Gerard! They’re here!”

“No shit,” Gerard calls back.

There’s a stomping around and then Brendon is back in the doorway with him, and he sits down next to Gerard.

“Frank had a message he wanted me to pass along to you. He says, and I quote, ‘Fuck you.’” Brendon relays to him.

“Well fuck you too, Frank,” Gerard yells, slanting his head for it to be heard out the door. It's quiet for a few seconds before he hears the obnoxious stomping of feet downstairs.

"You two just love each other, don't you?" Brendon teases, but falters when Gerard sends him a glare filled with spite. 

Frank comes up the stairs and stops when he sees Gerard's hate filled stare.

"Honey, I'm home," Frank sneers, pasting on a smile so fake it looks drawn on with crayon.

"Aren't you supposed to be coming through the front door when you say that?" Gerard says sarcastically.

"Aren't I supposed to be coming to a home cooked meal when I say that?" Frank snaps back. Gerard sees red spots in his vision at the implication of him being a stereotypical housewife from the 1950's or something.

"I swear to fucking-"

"Not again boys," Brendon says sternly, pinching the bridge of his nose with a pained look on his face. "Frank, why don't you go and set up the room you're going to be staying in? You’re sharing with Patrick, just go do that, and... yeah?"

Frank gives Gerard one last glare before turning to leave. Only he pivots and faces them again, this time with an excited look on his face.

"Oh, hey lets go introduce ourselves to the neighbors!"

Immediately Gerard shakes his head and Brendon gives him a disapproving look. 

"Absolutely not."

"I'm not sure that would be the best idea Frank, seeing as we're trying to stay on the down low from these guys," Brendon explains logically.

"No, but see, it would be better if we went and introduced ourselves to them and acted like nothing was wrong. Because if we just moved in and didn't even acknowledge them, that would seem even more suspicious, wouldn't it?" Frank tries to explain his reasoning.

Gerard answers, "Are you deaf? Or just plain fucking stupid? By what I've heard so far, I'm guessing both. No means no, Frank."

"Look, I wasn’t fucking asking _you_ , so why don't you just go and find yourself-"

Gerard interrupts, "If you just listened to orders once in your fucking life-"

"Stop! Jesus, if I have to hear one more argument between you two I'm going to put you both in a time-out. Quit it already!" Brendon snaps, having heard enough from the two bickering men in front of him for a lifetime.

"Frank. We are not going to introduce ourselves to the people we're supposed to be spying on. End of story," Gerard says slowly, like he's trying not to blow off his handle.

"Fine. I won't go and introduce myself," Frank turns and finally heads back downstairs where he belongs. 

‘Good’, Gerard thinks, 'Hopefully he'll stay down there.' He makes himself more comfortable and looks up innocently when Brendon shakes his head.

They stop when they hear the front door open and slam close. Gerard rushes back to look out the window where he sees Frank sauntering over to the exact house he specifically said not to go to. Gerard growls and grabs his jacket, already stomping down the stairs and ignoring Brendon's protests.

Gerard flies out the door and practically runs to where Frank has already reached the door, and is already talking to their suspects. How he can talk and smile so easily when he just disobeyed direct orders is beyond Gerard. He just clenches his fists and grinds his teeth, walking up behind Frank and setting a hand on his shoulder.

"-yes of course! And here’s my boyfriend now," Frank says, with that fake smile plastered to his stupidly white and perfect teeth, like he didn't just fucking ignore Gerard’s and Brendon's wishes. Gerard may in fact kill Frank for making Gerard’s cover the role of boyfriend. 

Frank continues, “We were just-”

"Heading back home," Gerard finishes for him, smiling at the big balding man in front of him. He reluctantly sticks his hand out for the man to shake. The two men in front of him are not particularly polite looking, and Gerard is actually a little intimidated.

"Gerry. Pleasure to meet you," Gerard says, slapping a smile on his face. 

“I was just greeting the neighbors, no need to get so testy,” Frank says.

"Well, we'd really love to stay and chat, but we've still got a load of unpacking to do, right Frank?" Gerard fumes, and his grip on Frank’s shoulder is not exactly a pleasant one. It’s turning his knuckles white, even.

Frank nods a little stiffly but shakes both of the men’s hands once more. "It was a pleasure meeting you two. Hopefully we'll see you soon." 

The men both grunt without saying a word to Gerard, and the two step off the porch. Once the door is shut, Gerard tightens his hand on Franks shoulder to the point of actual pain.

"Ow ow, what the fuck-" Frank squirms away, but Gerard has a firm grip on him.

"You're so fucking dead, I swear to god."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big fucking arguments are about to ensue.


	4. There Are Some Days Where I Really Feel Like This Could Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First big fight of book two!

“Who do you think you are? Do you think I’m incapable of doing this job?” Frank asks angrily.

“You’re a fucking kid, you don’t know a goddamn thing about what it’s like being an agent. You don’t know a thing! All you’ve ever learned was memorized from some ten year old textbook written by some prick who didn’t have the balls to make it as a real FBI agent. Frank, you can’t do this yet, but you think you can, and you keep getting in the way of anything that might be helpful. You know nothing of the real world, you’ve stepped into this thinking you’re ready but you’re not. You’re a _kid_ , and I don’t care what you say you are. You don’t know a thing about being in my shoes, but you think you do” Gerard says.

“You don’t know me! You don’t know how prepared or how skilled I am. You don’t even look at my accomplishments, because you see nothing but my flaws. I can do this, but you’re not even giving me a chance. You’re just an old guy complaining about the sky falling when there’s nothing wrong.”

Gerard’s eyes are icy and furious when he turns to look at Frank, “You’re not even remotely aware of the strain a job like this can put on a person. You think it’s all fun and games, catching a killer and putting them behind bars, but you have no idea what it does to a person. You can’t fathom the things that you have to deal with. You have to bury all this shit in your brain, because if you don’t then you’ll never sleep again. All the horror of the world that people pretend aren’t there, and all the monsters. People like to kid themselves and say that that stuff only happens in movies, but then you see it, and you live it. The damage it does to you is enormous. The blood, and the stench of a dead body. All the filth of the world that we have to deal with, and we internalize it and then there _you_ are Frank, thinking that this is just a job. 

“This isn’t a job, Frank, it’s a downward spiral. The first time you look into the eyes of a heartless murderer is the first step, and then you sink. You sink into the sternness required for the job. You have to lose all sense of disgust, you have to think in the mind of a person without morals, and you have to empathize with people so rotten it hurts your soul. After a while you just feel so unclean that there’s no part left of you that can deal with meddlesome rookies. After a while you see everything and there’s no room to put up with the questions, and the naiveté. There’s just nothing, but you, Frank, don’t get that.”

“I get-”

“Oh really? Do you know the fear of being shot at, or the ache of letting a killer get away from you? Can you even imagine what it’s like to find a dead body? First you smell it, and then you have to look down at the corpse of someone whose life was unnaturally taken. The scars that those experiences leave make you wish you never took this job. Sure, you want to help people now, you want to make the world safer than it is, but then you see the sickos and the serial killers and you forget why the world needs protecting. Why should I put up with an arrogant little bastard like you? Why should I have to deal with one more wretched thing in my life, which makes it all so much harder to handle? The answer is that I can’t, Frank. I can’t just put up with your rude, snide remarks, and your disrespectful behavior. I have seen so many things that make me want to chuck my link to humanity off a bridge, and I don’t need you coming in here acting like you own the place, and demeaning my ability.”

Frank doesn’t say anything, and none of the rest of them do either. The silence is louder than a foghorn, and it stings just as painfully.

“So, I guess the answer to your question is yes. I don’t think you have what it takes. Yet,” Gerard adds the ‘yet’ because he’s not _that_ awful a human being. Frank might be a great agent someday, but it won’t be under Gerard’s supervision that that happens.

“I’m not some kid, and I know this isn’t something I can tuck away at night. You don’t think I understood what I was signing up for at Quantico? I know that the world is full of ugly things, but everyone has the right to be treated as human, yet you forewent my right to that when first we met, and I think you’ve forgotten that everyone goes through a learning process. I know I’m not an expert, but you treat me like my head is empty!”

“I haven’t forgotten that, no. But I think what you need to remember is that no one has the desire to help those whose heads are as full of helium as yours. You sauntered into my office on your first day with every intent to undermine my authority, and in return, I decided not to grant you the nicety of liberal acceptance. If you come into my territory acting like you know everything, then you had damn well be able to live up to it. On your first day, you acted like you owned the place and you didn’t have the intelligence to understand that people were trying to work. This may come as a surprise to you, but the whole world does not pardon itself for you. Sometimes, you have to accept that you can’t do anything to help, because other people don’t have the room to include you, and on your very first day you disregarded that. You acted like you deserved to be included in on every aspect of an ongoing case that you weren’t originally a part of in the first place. We were busy enough that having to explain things to the new guy wasn’t in the cards. If you’d just waited a day, Frank, maybe I wouldn’t have a problem with you.”

“You wouldn’t let me do anything!”

“Yeah, you’re right, Frank. I didn’t want you to do anything because it was your first day. You’re not always going to have something to do, and you wouldn’t accept that sometimes people are busy when they’re working. If you’d just waited, Frank. If you’d patiently waited for your superiors to call on you then I would have no reason to hate you. If you had given consideration to other people’s time and patience then we wouldn’t have a problem. You didn’t though, you forced yourself into the case when it was clear that no one was in a position to allow you into their work, because you didn’t think. You weren’t thinking! You have to remember that we’re a team, and sometimes, just sometimes, we need to be left to our own work rather than be forced to entertain bratty little smart-asses like you. Teams are supposed to rely on each other, and listen to each other, especially when you have someone in charge. You didn’t do either.”

“But you ended up using my help,” Frank retorts.

“Yes, and I appreciate your help, but you made it a point to get in other peoples fucking way on your first day of work! It’s a process you’re eased into, because that’s how you can be the most useful. I had no use of someone who knew nothing about being an FBI agent, and you didn’t accept that. Instead you _pushed_ , and you _pried_ and then you became surprised when you’re presence wasn’t appreciated. How would you feel if I came into your house and started degrading your work and forcing my way into things you don’t have time to explain?”

“Jesus, Gerard-”

“You wouldn’t like that would you? You wouldn’t like the fact that some punk who thought he knew everything there was to know, started trying to tell _you_ how to do _your_ job that you have been doing for years before him. So do me a favor Frank, and just get off my team,” he’s tempted to tell Frank to drop out of the job altogether, but he decides against it, “You’re not cut out for this type of work; you’re unpredictable, you’re loud, you’ve got an ego about the size of Canada, and you can’t even follow simple orders."

“Ok, that’s bullshit Gerard! You think I don’t know what I got myself into when I signed myself up for this type of work? I know exactly what I did. What I don't know is what the fuck has been up your ass since I met you. I didn't come in here and try to tell you how to do your job, and I definitely didn't come here to just be a smart-ass. I came here to do what you do on a daily basis Gerard, which is help people. I forced myself onto a case because I believed I could be some sort of help while you were just running around like a chicken that had no head. I wanted to help find that little girl if it took everything I had, Gerard. That's what I'm here for, and fuck if I'm going to let someone like you force me out of something I believe I have the right to do! I'm here to stay Gerard, whether you like it or not," Frank finishes his statement and takes a breath. 

Both of their chests are heaving and their faces are flushed from anger. Frank had been wanting to say that to him ever since he found that Gerard couldn't stand him. Hopefully, now they could be on the same page and not have to dance around this like a bunch of teenagers.

Gerard sends him a cruel smirk and laughs. Frank feels his stomach plummet to the ground.

"You're just a sad little kid aren't you? You think you know, but you don't," Gerard laughs again and shakes his head, still chuckling like he finds the situation very amusing.

Suddenly, Frank’s seeing red and he digs his fingernails into his hands, making burning half-crescents in his palm. If he was the punk kid he was in high school, he would have already punched Gerard right in his pretty little mouth, but he has more self-control than that. Barely. Turning on his heels he leaves the room.

"Fuck this, I'm not fucking dealing with this bullshit."

Gerard watches Frank leave with a smirk on his face. Despite what Frank said, Gerard is sure that Frank will be leaving the force soon, or at least Gerard’s team, and he won't have to deal with his punk ass any longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment?


	5. Then There Are Days Like Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know how to describe this one. Fantastic? I've (Helena) reread this chapter like six times.

Frank's pacing in the small room that’s technically his and Patrick’s at the moment, and he’s absolutely livid. Thankfully Patrick isn’t there so he can be angry by himself. If only Gerard wasn't such an inconsiderate asshole, then Frank could actually do his job correctly. He knows if he doesn't talk to someone his head is going to explode. He takes his phone out and scrolls through his list, a name already in mind.

He barely even registers his hand pressing the call button until he brings it to his ear.

“Hello?” The tiny, soft-spoken voice over the phone says.

“Alex?” 

“Frank?”

“Yeah, hey,” Frank says, wrapping an arm around his stomach and keeping the phone attached to his ear.

“How’ve you been? You sound like you’re trying not to sound angry,” Leave it to Alex to know exactly what Frank’s feeling. Frank chuckles dryly.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, what’s wrong?”

“It’s, man, I don’t know. I shouldn’t get so worked up about it, but my fucking boss is a fucking dick,” Frank groans, tired of the situation already.

“Why? What happened?” Alex asks, his voice a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Well we just got back from this little thing and he blew up on me! Like, I could’ve sworn he was happy I fucking jumped in and helped him, but no, he was fucking pissed and started saying shit about how I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I mean, 'get off your high fucking horse buddy, it doesn't look like you know what you're doing either.’"

"Whoa, Frankie," Alex tries to calm him, "I don't think I've heard you this mad since that jock scratched 'FAG' into your locker sophomore year."

It actually sounds nice to hear someone call him Frankie in a friendly way, rather than to demean him. No one calls him Frankie anymore, but high school friends never really let go of things like that, and Alex is no exception.

"Yeah, no. This guy's worse. I'd gladly take on that bitch than deal with this bozo another day," Frank scoffs, picking at the skin around his fingernails. It was a habit he stopped in high school because it made his Mom upset, but it seems that all of that is out of the window now. He’s so pissed off with Gerard that he used the word ‘bozo’ for god’s sake!

"Damn Frankie, I don't know if this job's so good for you. You sure this is what you wanna do? There’s still time, I guess, to switch careers. Maybe you could, you know, _actually_ visit me sometime?" Alex jokes but it’s half-serious. Ever since Frank got into Quantico, he hasn't had much time to see Alex as much as he'd like. Sure, there are other ways to communicate, but there's only so many phone calls and Skype chats a guy can take before really needing to see his friend in the flesh.

"I visit you, jerk! But nah, I'm never going to quit this job. I don't care if my boss is the biggest queer asshole in the entire world, I'm never going to stop helping people. Never. Gerard can suck my-" the phone is suddenly ripped away from him, and Frank can feel the burning scratch of fingernails across his cheek in the hurry of snatching the cellular device. Frank turns in a flash in time to see Gerard hold the phone up to show him chidingly, and then he hurls it against the opposite wall.

"What the fuck!"

Gerard whips around, his face red and his body shaking with anger. Frank has a strong sense of Deja-vu from their previous argument.

Gerard's vision is covered by a thin film of red. He had walked by the room and heard Frank declaring to whoever was on the phone that he was never going to quit, then heard Frank insult him and his sexuality. Can someone say hypocrite? All of Gerard's hopes about being rid of the runt of the litter had been completely demolished when he heard those words leave Frank's lips.

"Gerard-"

"Fuck you Frank! Fuck you and your prissy teenage attitude! You're nothing but a no-good, incompetent-"

“Oh yeah because you’re a bed of roses! Gerard you treat me like shit-”

“And you don’t treat _me_ like shit?”

Frank groans wanting nothing more than to slap Gerard or something. _There’s_ an idea.

Frank’s never slapped anyone before, but he can’t even contain himself. Gerard broke his phone, over a throwaway insult, he deserves it. He takes his hand and swipes it across Gerard’s face, and then Gerard is so far past angry that he’s likely to turn into the incredible hulk.

“I am going to fucking kill you, Frank!” Gerard shouts.

“Go ahead, it would be Disneyworld compared to having to see you every day,” Frank says coldly.

Gerard narrows his eyes and pushes Frank confrontationally. Frank’s small so he stumbles back more than Gerard had expected, to the point where he hits the wall behind him. It’s not even unlikely that one of them is going to do some serious damage to the other.

For Gerard, he can’t even comprehend the way he loathes Frank. It’s unnatural to hate someone this much, but he so does. Frank’s feelings are no different.

“So what now, Way?” Frank shouts, “Going to hit me? Go on then!”

Gerard steps closer and he is so close to giving Frank a shiner that he can barely hold himself back. It physically pains Gerard to not physically pain Frank.

“You can’t fight fire with more fucking fire!” Gerard says, and he’s about to turn to walk away, when Frank puts his hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t just walk away from this, you fuckwad.”

“Don’t touch me!” Gerard says shrugging Frank off. 

“Go fuck yourself,” Frank says deciding he’s not even worth it.

“Don’t talk to me like that. I don’t need harassment from a know-it-all little shrimp like you,” Gerard says and he’s about to leave the room. He’s almost to the door when Frank positively explodes.

“Stop making fun of my size!” Frank screams, losing whatever control he had left, and he pushes Gerard against the opposite wall, not even sure what he wants to do at this point. He’s a cop, a fucking Fed even, but what he wouldn’t give to do serious damage to Gerard right now.

Gerard’s head slams painfully against the wall and he looks down at Frank with a scowl. He’s uncomfortably close and Gerard can’t count the number of places he would like to kick Frank. It’s somewhere in the low thousands.

“Move away Frank, before I do something I regret,” Gerard breathes out as slowly and calmly as he can. Frank can see the muscles in Gerard’s jaw working, and he fucking loves it.

“Why? Is it bothering you? Do it Gerard, fucking hit me,” Frank is just _itching_ for Gerard to give him a reason to swing at him.

Gerard has a flash of a thought that makes him smirk. 

“Sorry, I don’t hit midgets,” Gerard barely gets his insult out before Frank is roaring and grabbing a handful of his collar, pinning him even harder to the wall.

“Say that again. Slower,” Frank says lowly, looking up at Gerard through his lashes, pure fury emitting from the hazel irises. 

Gerard almost swallows his tongue and his brain short circuits. He can barely remember what they’re fighting about, because all he can think about is how fucking pretty Frank looks when his eyes are burning like they are, surrounded by thick long lashes. Frank is still looking at him evilly, waiting for Gerard’s answer, and all Gerard can think about is if Frank would look at him the same way if he was on his knees in front of Gerard.

“Go on. I dare you,” Frank growls, completely oblivious to the thoughts in Gerard’s mind. Gerard tries to shake the thoughts from his head, literally, and Frank takes it as a refusal to repeat his insult and smirks.

“I thought so,” He says smugly and Gerard’s anger comes back, not as strong as before, but it’s still vehemently there.

“Fuck. You,” He spits, trying to forget about Frank’s eyes and his stupidly flushed face, and his red lips. Most especially he can’t forget about how he can feel the heat radiating off of Frank’s smaller frame. Fuck, this is not turning him on, it can’t be!

Frank opens his mouth, most likely to spew out another insult, when he stops, eyes widening. This is the moment where Gerard wishes the ground would swallow him up while it still has the chance. Frank’s eyes flash down for a millisecond before meeting Gerard’s once again. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he smirks.

“By tell of your pants, I’m guessing you mean that literally?” Frank whispers, his voice dripping with amusement. Gerard almost whimpers in despair when Frank pushes a leg in between his, cutting off any oxygen in his throat. He looks at Frank in disbelief, but Frank just grins wolfishly and steps closer until their bodies are left with no space in between them.

“Frank-” Gerard tries to stop him, but Frank just rolls his hips on to his, and Gerard can feel Frank’s hard on against his leg as well. Gerard tries to thrash out of Frank’s grip, and only succeeds in grinding himself on Frank even more, which admittedly, isn’t as bad as it sounds.

“Fucking cock-sucking son of a-” Gerard's line of insults is interrupted by the door being pulled open.

"Would you two fucking stop?" Brendon says, sticking his head into the door to look at Gerard and Frank who are still uncomfortably close to each other. “What are you even doing?”

“Well I was going to knock his lights out,” Gerard says, and he pushes Frank away without looking at him, then walks over to the door, fixing his collar. He decides that any attention he’d give to adjusting his pants would only make Brendon more in tune to what just happened. Gerard doesn’t even know what just happened.

“You guys cannot keep up like this!” Brendon exclaims. “You just can’t. You’re FBI agents for god’s sake! You're supposed to help people, but you’re being blinded by that because of your hatred.”

“I’m not going to stop hating him if that’s what you’re suggesting.”

“No, we’d need a miracle for that to happen,” Brendon says, “but keep it civil. Cold stares, spit in the coffee mug, don’t hold the doors for each other, and maybe the occasional middle finger, but you two are homicidal in here. I’m going to be standing over a body sometime soon and it’s going to be one of you.”

“You mean it’s going to be Frank,” Gerard says.

“Yeah right, because you could take me down,” Frank sneers.

“You’re like four feet tall,” Gerard says, and Frank’s getting ready to pounce again, but Brendon gives him a terrifying stare that makes him reconsider. “I think I could take you.”

“Are we good then?” Brendon asks, “Are we going to let each other go our separate ways without stabbing each other with forks?”

“I’m not going to shake his hand,” Gerard says.

“Same,” Frank says, but Brendon only rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t ask you to,” he says, and opens the door wider for Gerard to leave.

Gerard takes a step towards it, but before he can, Brendon pulls it back to a narrow opening, and gives him a look in the eye that is not to be messed with, “Frank, say you’re sorry for calling Gerard queer, and smacking him.”

Frank looks like he’d rather make out with Susan Boyle, but he says a very reluctant, “sorry.”

“And Gerard, apologize for ruining Frank’s phone, and making fun of his height.”

“Sorry,” Gerard says stubbornly with distaste, and Brendon opens the door wider for him.

As Gerard’s leaving he finishes his sentence, “that Frank is an ignorant dwarf.”

Frank’s mouth opens like he wants to say something but thinks better of it when Brendon gives him that _look_ again.

Brendon turns around and walks after Gerard.

“You are an asshole, Gerard,” Brendon says when he catches up.

“Here we go again,” Hayley’s voice can be heard saying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of that to come, but damn.


	6. Wanna Tear My Fucking Hair Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Gerard go to... well, a strip club.

Gerard is laying down in his room trying not to think about how nice it would feel to strangle Frank until he turns purple. Just minutes ago, Frank was singing loudly, and very off-key to one of the songs that plays non-stop on the radio for teenagers. He’s doing so while Gerard is trying to take a nap. Needless to say, Gerard is not happy.

Suddenly there is a crash in the kitchen and Gerard clenches his teeth at Franks stupidly annoying giggle and obnoxious, “Oops!” His head is pounding and Frank’s annoying shenanigans aren’t helping at all.

“Frank!” And, no that can’t be Brendon’s voice sounding _amused_ , for fucks sake, “Are you serious? This is coming out of your paycheck, I hope you know.”

Brendon chuckles, and Gerard can just see his smile. Maybe it makes Gerard a bad person for not being happy that his best friend is enjoying himself after a stressful couple of weeks, but he can’t help it! He hates Frank, so he feels, irrationally, that Brendon should too.

After that thought, Gerard grumbles to himself and rolls over to try and get some sleep. Until the radio comes on unnecessarily loud again, even for Frank, playing the same song he was just singing, and Brendon’s laughter is the last straw.

Gerard rips the blanket away from him and storms towards the direction of the kitchen, and is horrified to find Hayley there as well, a smile on her face as she watches Frank make a fool of himself, swinging his hips obnoxiously.

“I can’t fucking believe it-”

“Gerard! I’m glad you’re awake. There’s something I wanted to tell you. All of you actually,” Hayley interrupts him as Frank turns off the music. “I just saw our suspects leave the house in their car, most likely off to go make a deal. If someone can follow them, we might be able to get the evidence we need for a search warrant.”

“I’ll go,” both Gerard and Frank say at the same time. Gerard turns and glares at the shorter man, only to be met with a patronizing smirk.

“Yeah, like shorty over here is qualified enough for reconnaissance,” Gerard scoffs, knowing it’ll get the smirk off Frank’s face, and it succeeds. Frank sneers at him instead, and somehow, Gerard is glad. Then Frank gets a gleeful look on his face, and Gerard frowns suspiciously.

“He’s right. I think Gerard should come with me and help me on the skills that I am obviously lacking,” Frank says seemingly seriously, but Gerard can detect the sarcasm and pure fucking evil in his voice.

“Oh, hell n-”

“That’s actually a good idea. Gerard, you and Frank will follow those men and see where they went. Once you know, page me on my cell, and scope out the area if you can,” Hayley commands, leaving no room for argument. You’d think she was the one in charge half the time, by the way she acts.

Gerard and Frank find themselves in the car a few moments later, Frank looking so proud of himself, and Gerard feeling like he drew the short straw.

“I fucking hate you,” Gerard mutters.

“Yep yep yep. Now follow that car!” Frank says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he answers, but he pulls the car off in the direction that Hayley had specified. He takes a detour to catch up, and they pull up behind the right car only a few seconds later.

They follow the car, a little ways behind so as not to attract suspicion, for almost ten minutes. The car pulls up to a building and Gerard gets a parking space a safe place away to watch them enter the building. He then looks at the sign above the door they entered and his heart stutters a bit.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Frank says unbuckling. He looks at Gerard who’s still sitting there looking way more afraid then Frank would have thought possible.

“But it’s a... a strip club. With, like, _girls_.”

“As opposed to what? A strip club with chicken strips?”

“I- I, um, I don’t-” Gerard mumbles, feeling his heart rate quicken.

“Oh don’t tell me,” Frank starts looking absolutely delighted, “you’re afraid of naked women aren’t you? You’re afraid of naked ladies!”

Gerard blushes wanting nothing more than to punch Frank in the jaw, but he’s not exactly wrong. Gerard wouldn’t necessarily say afraid. Maybe faintly horrified, but not _scared_. It’s just that he doesn’t want to be near anyone without clothes on who has female genitalia. Yeah, okay he’s afraid of naked women.

“I just... I don’t like the way they objectify women,” Gerard says. It’s not exactly untrue, but there are definitely other reasons why he does not want to go into that strip club.

“You’re afraid of boobs,” Frank concludes and the look on his face is like Christmas has come early.

“I am not!” Gerard says, looking at the steering wheel in front of him enviously. He wants to just drive away from here and pretend they never followed the two men.

“Then how about you get out of the car and you come with me,” Frank says, and he hops out of the car. He keeps the door open and stares at Gerard expectantly and pompously. He thinks he’s so much better than Gerard, just because he’s not afraid of going in there. Gerard can’t help it, the very thought of stepping inside of a strip club makes his heart turn to lead, and weighs him down into place.

“I don’t... why do we have to go in? I mean what’s the point? It’s not like they’re cooking drugs in the strip club, is it?”

“Well maybe they’re making a deal. Buying supplies? We could catch them red handed,” Frank says.

“You don’t even believe that. You just...”

“What? I just what? In case you haven’t forgotten I’m as straight as a basketball. I’m just not so emotionally immature that I get freaked out by women,” Frank says.

Gerard sets his jaw stubbornly, and very slowly pulls himself out of the car. He’s shaking like mad, but he does his best to pretend that he’s not so nervous. Frank doesn’t need any more ammunition.

“You okay, Gerard? Do you need a paper bag or something?” Frank asks condescendingly.

“Fuck you,” he responds and walks around the side of the car. Despite his quick pace over to the door of the building, Gerard has absolutely no confidence at the moment. He’s actually not opposed to being given a paper bag, but he is not going to let Frank win.

“Do you need me to go in first?” Frank says in the most sarcastically sugared down voice Gerard has ever heard.

“No, you should. I’m a gentleman, and its ladies first after all,” Gerard replies. Frank wrinkles his nose at him, but Gerard feels a little better about himself, because when he’s standing up, Gerard is at least three inches taller than Frank. It’s so hard not to make fun of Frank’s height every other minute. Plus Frank is going to use this all as fuel to make fun of Gerard, so he has no condolences for making fun of his stature.

“You’re a dick,” Frank says, but he grabs the door and enters the building. Gerard takes a big long breath, trying to get enough oxygen in his lungs for the next however many minutes they’re going to be in there. At least there’s a bar next door. He’s going to try to take advantage of that in the near future. Gerard really doesn’t want to be soberly near a strip club, but it’s too late so he just walks in.

The room is dimly lit, and already, Gerard feels like hiding under a desk in the fetal position. There’s a stage thing with poles, and he doesn’t focus too hard on what’s going on up there. He just looks around for the two men, but he doesn’t see them. 

This was a horrible idea, he shouldn’t have come in here. There’s a bar which looks very tempting at the moment, but Frank is staring at him surreptitiously. There’s a bunch of seats in front of the stage, which Gerard doesn’t even want to think about.

The thought of the men that sit up there and actually pay to watch these girls, makes him want to disown his whole gender. He has nothing against strippers in general, he understands that it’s a job that pays, it’s the fact that men actually walk into these places. Men actually come here, and that disgusts him more than the boobs on that girl over there.

There’s already about six men in here, even though it’s the middle of the afternoon, and Gerard gags at the putridness of all of them.

“I feel ill,” Gerard mumbles, and Frank smirks at him. Gerard doesn’t care anymore, he wants alcohol, like, now.

He walks over to the bar quickly before Frank pulls him away by the sleeve, “we’re on the clock.”

“We don’t have an actual clock. I’m not on duty or anything. I’m not a regular cop,” Gerard says, but he’s pulled away from the alcohol. Frank pulls him over to a scantily clad lady who seems to be a waitress of some sort. Gerard not-so-subtly puts his hand on the side of his face blinding him from whatever is happening on the stage.

“Watch out, if you don’t concentrate enough on pretending they don’t exist, they might not be able to realize you’re afraid of them,” Frank says sarcastically.

Gerard hits him, but follows him to stand in front of the lady who looks at them with a fake smile. Neither of them really blame her, she’s probably used to having men come up to her and treat her like shit, while she just has to sit and take it.

“Hello gentleman,” she says, and her voice is quite nice and soothing. She’s got a bit too much makeup, but it doesn’t look too bad. She’s actually really pretty, but for obvious reasons, neither Gerard nor Frank is interested.

Gerard’s still got a hand on his face and realizes that he’s probably supposed to take the lead since Frank is still new to this.

“Hey, um,” Gerard stutters, and fumbles for the badge in his pocket. He pulls it out along with a shoddy photograph they took of the two men from the window. He almost drops the badge and Frank rolls his eyes at Gerard. The men they’re following aren’t in the room currently, but they can’t let it be known that there are feds in the building to many people.

“I’m special agent Way, and this is my, uh, associate, we were wondering if you’re familiar with these two men? They came in here a few minutes ago. Are they regulars here?”

The woman frowns, losing the plastic expression, and takes the photo from him to look at it more closely.

“Yeah I’ve seen them in here a few times. Why?”

“I’m afraid I can’t disclose any details at the moment,” that’s not exactly true, this is barely an official assignment, but she doesn’t need to know that, “can you tell me anything about them?”

She shrugs, and Gerard stows the badge away cautiously, “Don’t really know much about ‘em. They come here sometimes, and they get a private room in the back.”

“Do they ever meet people here? Do you ever ring up a tab for them?” Gerard asks.

“Sure. I can get the information for you, if you’d like,” she says helpfully, and Gerard nods gladly. She walks over to the bar and circles around to the other side of it. It’s an excuse for Gerard to look anywhere but at the dancers.

She looks at her computer for a few minutes before pressing a few buttons, and a printer behind her starts breathing out, and spits a piece of paper into the tray.

“Here you are,” she says, handing it to them. “Strictly speaking I’m not supposed to do that, but if you two are feds...”

“Yes, thank you, we appreciate it,” Gerard says, and he turns, then remembers why he’d been explicitly avoiding that direction. He does a double take and looks back at the woman who’s now smiling at him like she can smell the gay on him.

“Don’t like the entertainment?” she asks with amusement.

“Not particularly, no,” he says, so he looks down at his paper. Frank has his back to the bar and is actually _watching_ , with a bored expression, but it still confuses Gerard.

The paper doesn’t tell him much, it just says how often they’ve been here in the past few months. The name on it is either fake or they have multiple aliases, because the house that they’re watching is leased under the name “Rogers” where the tab is under the name “Smith.” Both sound like obvious pseudonyms though, so it’s doubtful that either is legitimate.

“So they’re in a private room?” Gerard asks, because Frank isn’t doing anything to help him out.

“Yes,” she says.

“Are they meeting with someone, do you know?”

“It’s possible. If so, I didn’t see them,” she says, “My shift is done in a few minutes, is that all you needed?”

“I, um, I guess so,” Gerard says, and she nods, then goes back to doing whatever she was doing.

“Right, we got what we needed, can we leave now?” Gerard asks.

“I don’t know, I think we can still find out some more information on them,” Frank says.

“You don’t really think that, you just want to make me uncomfortable,” Gerard states.

Frank looks offended but the face is clearly fake and he says, “Why I’m insulted that you’d think I would ever do such a thing.”

“Yeah, whatever we can go.”

“Not just yet,” Frank says, and like that he’s gone to the woman again and he’s asking if it’s possible to go into the back.

Yeah, Gerard is definitely going to kill him later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think half of this story stemmed from wanting to write this chapter. It may have been thought up after re-watching the music video for Dear Maria, but just picturing this was hilarious.


	7. Talking in Circles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does anyone read these summaries? I am far too lazy to write one.

Gerard doesn’t know how on earth he managed to get Frank out of the strip club. Honestly, it seemed like he was enjoying it there. On the other side of the coin though, Frank doesn’t remember to agreeing to go into the bar next door. He’d thought that Gerard wanted to get out of the strip club and then go back to the house, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Frank is being dragged away from the strip club, and the next minute he’s watching Gerard down a few shots.

“You keep trying to fucking mess everything up,” Gerard mumbles.

“You never give me any intelligible instructions,” Frank says back.

“Because you’re not fucking listening to me when I try to, and you’re the newbie, you shouldn’t be so reckless. You are reckless though. You jump into shit, and if you keep doing that you are going to get yourself into a bad situation. I cannot even begin to handle how difficult it will be if you mess up that badly. You know who ends up having to take responsibility if you get hurt, Frank? Me! I have to take all the blame if you get hurt, and you don’t seem to get that. I’m your _boss_ , Frank. Your fucking boss. Now, I don’t have the power to fire you, but I do have the power to suspend you, and if you keep at it, I will have no choice but to do just that.”

“But-”

Gerard interrupts him to order himself a beer, and Frank just watches, because someone is going to have to be the designated driver. Gerard doesn’t seem to be at all concerned with the likelihood that he is to become hammered, and Frank is a little surprised to say the least. Usually one doesn’t watch a guy get drunk to get rid of the anxiety of being around breasts. It’s circumstantially funny, but right now it’s verging on ridiculous.

“I don’t want to fucking hear you try to defend yourself. You are reckless, and if you get hurt it’s on my head, and I won’t let you put that on me. So either grow a pair and suck it up, or get the hell off my team,” Gerard says, “that’s all I have to say.”

Frank frowns, but doesn’t say anything in response, and for a long time he just sits on the stool next to Gerard, waiting and rolling his eyes. The guy can consume a record breaking amount of alcohol. After a while he starts trying to talk to Frank, and usually it doesn’t make sense, or it’s an extremely ill-thought out insult.

“Your face is like... really stupid,” is among one of Gerard’s various insults.

Some people have really profound thoughts when they’re drunk. Gerard is not one of those people.

“My fingers look like really pale hot dogs.”

“Yes, Gerard,” Frank says, because the dude is _fucked_.

“I’ve never seen that movie about the panda who knew karate.”

“That’s nice,” Frank responds.

“What was it called?”

“Kung Fu Panda.”

“No, it was Karate Panda,” Gerard says determinedly.

“I really don’t think so,” Frank answers.

“No, I’m right,” Gerard states, “who the fuck thought that was a good idea for a movie?”

“I don’t know, Gerard. Maybe you’ve had enough,” Frank answers.

“Your face has had enough,” Gerard replies and then laughs at his words that were apparently meant to be a joke.

A few minutes later Gerard starts pulling on Frank’s sleeve and he rolls his eyes, and tries to ignore him.

“Fraaaaank,” Gerard whines, and Frank is just as annoyed as he can get.

“What now?”

“I’m not usually like this, Frank,” Gerard says.

“Like what?”

“I’m not a dick to people. I’m not mean! I don’t like being mean to people. I’m not grumpy. I’m not. Really.”

“Yeah, whatever Gerard.”

“Please believe me. I’m sorry. I’m not this mean, or,” it’s very obvious that Gerard is incredibly intoxicated by the way his words slur together. 

"Or?" Frank prompts when Gerard doesn't slur anything else. Gerard shakes his head and opens his mouth, but all that comes out is a burp. He slaps a hand over his mouth and laughs loudly. Too loudly if the people at the bar giving them weird looks is anything to go by.

"Frankie, you wanna dance?" Gerard asks tugging on his sleeve again, oblivious to the people giving him strange looks. He decides to disregard the use of the word ‘Frankie,’ because Gerard is incredibly stupid right now.

Frank shakes his head, "Gerard, you don't want to dance with me. You're drunk."

"No, really! I think you're cute Frankie. Do you think you're cute?" 

"Yes, Gerard. I think I'm adorable," Frank sighs, playing along because he knows that's the only way to deal with the drunken Gerard. 

"Thas good!" He tugs on his sleeve persistently, “‘Cause ya are.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but does not stand up. Gerard leans in a little closer to Frank which only makes things more awkward.

Gerard keeps touching Frank, almost to the point of being inappropriate, before trying to wrap his arms around Frank like an octopus. Frank puts up with it for the most part, pushing him away whenever he feels that Gerard’s getting a little too close. It isn't until Gerard accidentally pushes a drink off the counter, that he realizes Gerard needs to get out of here.

The man whose drink Gerard happened to push is not overly muscled, or even that tall, but he’s toned and taller than Gerard, and has tattoos all over. Frank’s probably got him beat in ink, but he’s bigger than both of them.

"Hey, watch what you’re doing!" the guy says, not exactly as a threat, but a warning. Gerard, being completely intoxicated, doesn't catch on.

"Of course, he’s sorr-" Frank begins to apologize when Gerard interrupts.

"Why you got p-problem?" Gerard turns to the man, and tilts his head up to meet his narrowed eyes. The man towers above Gerard until they’re practically touching, and he seems to have venom in his glare. Before he can cause any more problems, Frank pulls Gerard off of the barstool and aims for the door.

“I coulda taked him,” Gerard says.

"Yeah, you've had enough," Frank nods. He tries to haul Gerard up and slings an arm around his shoulders, but it's like trying to move a dead weight. 

"Come on. Work with me," Frank grumbles, finally getting into a position where he and Gerard can get out of the bar without too much trouble.

"Frank, just... Let me walk, I'm fine. Totally fine," Gerard rambles while Frank shakes his head, annoyed. He would be more amused if they hadn't been trying to _do_ something in the first place. 

He sighs angrily and pushes open the doors of the bar, squinting his eyes looking for Gerard's car. Frank doesn’t know when it got dark, but it is now, so they must have taken a lot longer in there than he’d thought. He spots the car under a street lamp and heads for it before Gerard can distract him again.

"Fraaaaaank. Frank! Frankie?" Gerard mumbles almost incoherently, grasping at Frank's sleeve, trying to get his attention.

"Whaaat?" He groans, patting at Gerard’s pockets after realizing that he has the keys to the car, "Gerard, where are the keys?" 

"In my pocket..." Gerard trails off, smiling at him. Frank just stares blankly. Gerard almost never smiles at him. The only thing that he's ever sent at him that was close to a smile was a sneer. He shakes his head and starts patting Gerard's pocket and feels the keys. He starts to slide his hand in the tight jean pocket when Gerard croons.

"Oh, Frankie. Are you tryin' to seduce me?" 

Frank stares at him, barely realizing Gerard's pockets are relatively close to his crotch. He just huffs, trying to ignore the flush on his face as he retrieves the keys from their prison. Gerard keeps giggling the whole time, like a small child. He decides that Gerard is probably really ticklish, but sends the thought away. 

“Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me. Aren’t you?” Gerard says which sends him into a laughing fit, because apparently quoting movies from the 1960s is the epitome of hilarious.

Frank unlocks the car and shoves Gerard into the passenger side before climbing in the driver’s seat. He starts the car all the while, trying to ignore Gerard.

“Do I make you horny, baby?” Gerard says when he stops laughing, though he barely gets it out.

The drive back to the stakeout house is amusing to both men. Frank can't help but smile as Gerard laughs and overreacts to simple things, like fire hydrants, which Gerard seems to find funnier than old movie quotes. It’s so unusual to see Gerard so open and happy, Frank’s in shock. As they reach the home, he’s upset to see that Brendon’s car is parked there, and he hopes that he doesn’t need to explain things. 

Frank half-carries and half-drags Gerard into the house. Frank is about ready to crash, and sees that, thankfully, neither Brendon nor anyone else is in the living room right now. There’s minimalistic furniture, but he drags Gerard to his bedroom upstairs and Gerard still manages to trip on something. Frank is fairly sure that Brendon and the others are in the observation room, where they’ve been watching the house across the way, but they either don’t hear or don’t care about Frank and Gerard. He steps through the doorway and guides Gerard to his bed, then turns to leave.

"Frankie?" Gerard calls, not willing to let him leave just yet. The man looks down at the bed like it’s repulsive and unclean, then looks at Frank.

Frank sighs and stops where he stands to look at Gerard, "Yes?" 

Gerard stumbles towards him and gets into his personal space within seconds, leaving Frank confused. He tilts his head up to meet Gerard's glazed eyes.

"Stay, yeah? I'll make it worth your while," Gerard whispers, his hot breath fanning over the shorter man's face. Frank’s shocked to say the least. What’s happened to Gerard? 

When Gerard doesn't get an answer, he takes things into his own hands. Literally. He grabs a handful of Frank’s ass and hauls the younger man’s body towards his. Immediately Frank tries to pull out of the embrace, but Gerard has a firm grip.

"C'mon Frankie. Don't you wanna have fun?" 

Frank’s almost tempted, but quickly realizes what's wrong with the situation, "No Gerard. You're drunk. I- this is wrong. Get some sleep."

“No I’m not!” He says, “I’m a little tipsy, and I feel kind of fuzzy but I’m not _drunk_.”

“Yes you- Whoa, what the hell are you doing?” Frank says after Gerard’s hand strays down to a suggestible area of Frank, and he pushes Gerard off of him.

“Nothing!” He says and giggles stupidly. He’s _definitely_ drunk.

“Gerard you are not making life decisions while you’re drunk okay? Just go to sleep or something.”

Finally freeing himself, Frank turns off the light and leaves the room without a second glance.

Well that’s not something that happens every day. Gerard is a horny ass drunk, that’s for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that wasn't untasteful.


	8. Gotta Know, Was It Real?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can we just take a moment to appreciate how perfectly the lyrics of this song work as chapter names?

“Dude, I have like _the worst_ fucking hangover of my life,” Gerard says walking into the kitchen where Brendon and Frank are sitting.

“Frank said you got plastered,” Brendon notes to him when he sees Gerard rubbing at his eyes.

“Don’t talk so loud,” Gerard says, and Brendon rolls his eyes. He was using an inside voice Gerard’s just that hung-over.

“So do you, uh, do you even remember what happened?” Frank asks gingerly. He doesn’t even know what to think. Gerard was coming onto him last night and there’s no way he can just pretend that didn’t happen. It happened, Frank was there. The weird part was the fact that he would totally have been into it were Gerard not completely wasted. He’d reeked of booze though and it would’ve been dubious at best to have done anything, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

“No, not really,” Gerard replies, wondering why Frank isn’t taking advantage of his hypersensitive state. If it were Frank that was hung-over, it’s very likely that Gerard would’ve turned on all the lights and screamed in his ear.

“Oh, um... okay then,” Frank says in an odd tone. Before Gerard has time to question it or even let Frank’s words sink in, he’s left the room. Frank is a quick guy considering how short he is. He’s like The Flash, out of sight before Gerard noticed he’d stood up. Then again his response time is not in its best state at the moment, so the world has slowed down a fair bit.

“What was that about?” Brendon asks.

“Too loud,” Gerard says and sits down at the counter, resting his head against the cold laminate countertop. It’s not a very affective pillow, but leveling his head out makes it feel like his brain isn’t clinging on for dear life. His head is banging like there’s an overly energetic monkey with a gong in his head, making it hard to think straight. He’s pretty sure that his head is going to fall off if he moves around too much.

“I don’t know, am I an embarrassing drunk?” Gerard asks in response to Brendon’s question. “It’ll come back to me. I hope I didn’t do any dancing.”

“That would be a crime against us all,” Brendon remarks.

“You weren’t there, shut up,” Gerard snaps, and then regrets it instantly because it makes his head throb.

“Why were you even drunk in the first place? Like, dude, seriously?”

“Boobs,” Gerard says in response, and then realizes how vague that sounds, “lots of naked women. Yucky. Strip club. You know how it goes.”

“No, apparently I don’t. I thought the point of being gay was not liking naked women, and such, so it baffles me that you were at a strip club. I have never met a more flamingly homosexual in my entire life, so why, may I ask, were you at a fucking strip club?”

“Don’t take that tone, it’s too loud,” Gerard says, “we were following the guys ‘cross the street. They went to a strip club thingy. Frank thought maybe there was some sort of deal going on in one of the back rooms or something.”

“You’re very articulate today,” Brendon says sarcastically.

“Shhh,” Gerard says in response and puts his finger to his lips, then buries his head in his arms.

“Need an aspirin?” Brendon asks.

“Probably, but I’ll just hold off for now,” Gerard says. “Want to try to figure out what happened last night. Aspirin will numb my senses of memory.”

“I think that’s completely bullshit, but whatever you say,” Brendon rolls his eyes, and stands up to get himself some more coffee while Gerard groans into his arm. He thinks back to the times he’s seen an intoxicated Gerard, and can confirm that he’s definitely looser, but he’s not a particularly awful drunk. He’s much more flamboyant under the influence. He’s like Liberace with alcohol in his system. A little flirty.

When Brendon turns his back, Gerard has a bit of a realization.

“Oh!” Gerard’s head pops up and he looks completely surprised. He doesn’t look in pain either so it’s almost like his headache has been cured with whatever realization he’s had.

“What?” Brendon asks, and he turns around to look at him.

Gerard looks at Brendon for a minute then says, “Shit. Shit! Oh my fucking god, I did not.”

It looks like he’s having an argument with himself. Brendon just looks at him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for Gerard to explain. He doesn’t he just keeps cussing and his eyes get wider by the second.

“Shit, motherfucking dammit!”

“That’s a lot of expletives, what the hell did you do?”

“Oh god, Brendon, I don’t even... ugh,” he says shaking his head in disgust.

“What? Did you puke or something?” Brendon questions, looking lost.

“Way worse. Really bad. Oh god, I _must_ have been drunk to do _that_.”

“Do you need me to get a polygraph, because I am a cop, and I will do it,” Brendon says warningly.

“Oh fuck, Brendon! I tried to make out with Frank!”

Brendon stands there a little aghast for a moment before shaking his head, “no way. Even you aren’t that low.”

“What? What do you mean by that?” Gerard asks.

Brendon looks extremely unconvinced and sighs, “Well, you trying to make out with Frank would be like Harry Potter suddenly deciding to stick his tongue down Malfoy’s throat.”

“But it happened, Brendon,” Gerard says without faltering. “I legitimately, like actually, flirted with Frank Iero.”

Brendon looks at him again for a much longer instant and then his face falls like it’s striking him that Gerard isn’t lying. He can’t believe it though. He isn’t ruling out the possibility that he just stepped into the Twilight Zone.

“Dude? What! Duuuuuude.”

“I know!” Gerard says back.

“You, wow so,” Brendon looks at Gerard like he’s the fucking Rosetta Stone, but he’s incapable of deciphering Gerard in the slightest.

“What the hell do I do?” Gerard asks.

“This actually happened? You’re not playing me,” Brendon confirms and Gerard nods, “okay so I guess, you... did you actually kiss him?”

“Ew, no!” Gerard says, and then has a mini heart attack because he doesn’t actually know. He can’t be sure, but he doubts he would. Well, he really hopes he wouldn’t. At the same time he could do worse. That thought makes Gerard gag, because no, he really couldn’t do worse.

“Are you sure?” Brendon asks.

“No! Of course I’m not fucking sure,” Gerard says trying not to completely freak out on either himself or Brendon.

“Okay, calm down. This is, wow, I don’t know how to handle this,” Brendon says, looking nervous and empathetic.

“I can’t believe this,” Gerard says hopelessly, “What the hell do I do? What do I say? Should I like, apologize for practically sexually harassing him or-“

“What did _he_ do?” Brendon asks.

“Don’t really remember. Pushed me away I think.”

“Okay, that’s good. I have another question though.”

Gerard tries to steady his heartbeat, and nods for Brendon to keep talking. He’s trying to figure out how he could’ve possibly swallowed down his inhibitions like that. Even he isn’t that stupid when drunk. Maybe he was possessed. Gerard likes that better than the obvious answer.

“You were piss drunk, and I get that, but do you think there’s any chance, even the tiniest, that you might actually have feelings for Frank? Like, no one changes into a different person when they’re drunk, so I mean, it can’t have just been this spontaneity. You’re the same person, just without as many inhibitions, like in that song by Natasha Bedingfield.”

Gerard’s looking at Brendon like he’s an alien or something, or just admitted his undying love of Joseph Stalin. Gerard is the gay one while Brendon just referenced a dead pop song? Definitely some Twilight Zone shit going on.

“I’m just saying! Maybe it’s buried. Really really really buried,” Brendon tries to justify, but the look he’s getting from Gerard is venomous.

“What the _fuck_ are you talking about?” Gerard asks.

Brendon sighs, “Maybe it's your subconscious telling you that you actually like the little punk.”

"No I find him attractive, but I also find him annoying as hell."

“But you do find him attractive,” Brendon raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, aesthetically. I also find _you_ attractive, but I don’t want to get in your pants.”

“Oh really?” Brendon jokes, and Gerard scoffs at him.

“You wish. I am way out of your league,” he declares.

“I thought you had a headache,” Brendon says, trying to change the subject.

Gerard seems to remember the pain in his head because as soon as Brendon brings it up his head slams against the counter, and he moans something about his life being over.

“You are such a drama queen,” Brendon sighs looking down at him.

“I can’t tell him I know,” Gerard says through the muffled fabric of his sleeve. “I cannot let Frank know that I remember. I just need to pretend it never happened.”

“Oh come on, Gerard.”

“No! Brendon if you tell anyone about this I will throw your first born into an active volcano,” Gerard says without looking up.

Brendon frowns at him, rolls his eyes and says, while he’s walking out of the kitchen, “I’ll keep it between you and me. But just think about it.”

“There is nothing to think about!” Gerard screams after him.


	9. Too Many Sheep on the Brain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talking about drugs.

Nothing really out of the ordinary happens the rest of the day besides Gerard’s hangover. Mostly Gerard is just ducking behind walls to hide from Frank. It still hasn’t completely sunk in that he legitimately tried to make out with Frank last night.

He distinctly remembers the attempt, but he can’t understand how or why he would ever try to do that.

Before he dwells too much on it, there’s a sound of the back door being pulled open, and Gerard lifts his head to see Patrick and Hayley enter. They’d tracked the men today by car, and it looks like they got to go on an adventure that didn’t include naked women.

Brendon is leaning against the counter with a book in his hand when they enter, and only looks up at the huffing noise Hayley makes.

“Hey so, we went out to the pharmacy that these guys have been regularly visiting,” Hayley says, sitting down at the counter.

“Yeah, and?” Gerard asks.

“Well, that’s the thing. We asked for a copy of the receipt when they left, as well as the receipts for their last four trips, and it’s just... it’s not making any sense to me. I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get?”

Patrick interjects, “well it’s the things they’re buying. It doesn’t really add up. Multiple different occasions where they had an almost identical shopping list. Duct tape, bleach, paint thinner, and acetone. At first it looks like a beginners guide to torturing a victim, but then we dig a little deeper.”

“I don’t like the sound of torture,” Frank says, and Gerard turns to see that he’s entered the room. Gerard doesn’t say anything, but he silently agrees.

“I think it’s highly unlikely that they’re torturing anyone, I’ll say that much,” Patrick states.

“That’s not all though. There’s some strange stuff, but it’s not bought as regularly as the other items. Sulfur, among them, which is extremely difficult to buy in bulk, as is peroxide and acetone. All three of those can be used in drugs, but bleach? You don’t put that in a drug. At least not one I’ve ever heard of. All of those can be found in drugs like methamphetamine, but it’s the combination of the bleach and paint thinner that’s getting to me,” Hayley says.

“Well, I hate to blow a hole in your theory, but a lot of people do use paint thinner in quite a few inhalants,” Gerard says.

“Not as much these days. There’s more efficient ways, but it’s not off the table.” 

“What’s so wrong with the idea that they’re using paint thinner for its ingredients though? That’s plausible. There’s different chemicals in both of those,” Gerard asks.

“Yeah but isolating them when they’re already liquefied, what’s the point. If you need a chemical in the paint thinner why don’t you buy it separately?” Patrick points out.

“I don’t know, that’s a good point,” Brendon adds.

“But maybe it’s a substance that’s hard to obtain anywhere else,” Frank suggests.

“What brand of paint thinner are they buying?” Gerard asks, “Get ahold of the chemical listing, and we’ll figure out what might be in the stuff that they’re after.”

“Maybe you’re over-thinking it,” Frank says, “maybe they don’t want a specific chemical in the paint thinner, or the bleach or anything. Maybe they just want the paint thinner.”

“What? Do you think they’re remodeling in there?” Gerard asks sarcastically.

Hayley interjects, “they have bought several boxes of nails if that’s anything.”

“Well paint thinner isn’t just used for the obvious,” Frank says, “There’s a whole slew of things you can use it for. Bleach and paint thinner have a very similar purpose if you’re trying to clean up heavy duty shit.”

“Why would they need to keep a meth lab overly hygienic?”

“It’s just a suggestion,” Frank says.

“Well, I’ll run the ingredients by the drug lab to see if there’s a common bond between them. Maybe it’s not meth,” Hayley says.

“What? A drug that uses bleach? Nails?” Brendon asks, skeptically.

“You never know these days,” Patrick shrugs, “though it is hard to believe.”

“Bleach is used in date rape drugs. Nails is something else entirely. Hardware and shit, it’s probably unrelated,” Gerard says. “But you don’t find bleach in a drug for recreational use, and you certainly wouldn’t use a roofie for the high.”

“Well people do fucked up things for the kicks,” Brendon shrugs.

“Duct tape,” Gerard whispers more to himself then to anyone. That, even though it’s probably the most menial item on the list is what sticks out to him the most. Why on earth do they need duct tape? 

“Sorry, what?” Hayley asks.

“No nothing... that’s what throws _me_ off,” Gerard says. “Why duct tape?”

“Leaky faucet?” Brendon prompts.

“No, not in bulk.”

“He’s right, that would be one fucking big leak,” Frank says.

Gerard tries to shrug off the fact that Frank just agreed with him, and goes on, “putting aside the idea of kidnapping, duct tape in large quantities is usually only found in school projects. So unless they’re helping out their little niece who’s in a Girl Scout troop, something sketchy is going on.”

“You’re worried about _something_ ,” Hayley says, “What are you afraid it’s for?”

“Honestly?” Gerard raises an eyebrow, “insulation.”

“Why would that be so scary? What’s the insulation for?” Frank asks.

“I don’t want to think about it. I hope I’m worrying about nothing.”

The rest of the day passes by slowly. Gerard is watching the numbers change on the clock almost religiously, waiting for an acceptable time to head off to bed. He doesn’t want to be the last one to go, so he waits for Patrick to knock off for his room, and Frank follows behind a few minutes later.

Brendon and Hayley are on night watch today, so Gerard’s room is empty when he finally pulls himself up and under his covers. 

Gerard doesn’t know what to do with the memory of the drunken version of himself coming onto Frank. Intolerable, annoying, insufferable, _attractive_ Frank. He cringes again just thinking of himself groping Frank mercilessly against his will. What if Frank had decided to take advantage of him? He shudders just thinking about it.

He didn’t though, and something can be said about that. Frank may be a bloody great dickhead, but at least he has basic human decency. Gerard had literally thrown himself at the guy, and Frank could have so easily taken advantage of him, but he didn’t. It makes it hard to hate Frank as much as Gerard wants to.

Gerard still can’t believe he did that, drunk or not. Well one thing’s for sure, he is not going to give Frank the satisfaction of knowing he remembers. If he doesn’t remember of his drunken night, then he cannot be held responsible for the crimes he committed under the influence. He turns around and wraps the blanket tighter around him. He doesn’t know how he’s going to face Frank now, knowing what he did. Knowing what deep down inside, he still kind of wants to do.

What if Frank figures it out though? What if Frank sees the way he now looks at him, and he makes fun of Gerard for it? He’d sooner slam his hand in a door then have Frank think for a minute that he liked him. It’s not that Gerard likes Frank, it’s that Frank is good looking. 

Gerard’s always kind of liked the adrenaline kick from hating something, so in a lot of ways he likes Frank because of the way he makes him so furious.

Gerard sighs, frustrated and closes his eyes tightly. He knows he’s not going to get much sleep tonight.

Meanwhile a floor away, and no less muddled, Frank tries to cast his thoughts away.

Frank sits down on his bed and rubs his face. This thing with Gerard and the stress from the case is all piling up on him, making him more tired than usual. He lays down and has to hold back a relieved groan at the pressure on his back. He shuts his eyes and wriggles happily in his bed, ready for sleep. Except he can’t get to sleep because his asshole boss is on his mind with his stupid face, and stupid eyes, and his stupid lips. Everything about that man is so unbelievably stupid, and yet oh so tantalizing. 

Why do people always want what they can’t have? Cravings are always stronger when you know it isn’t possible. He shouldn’t crave Gerard, he hates him, but here he is and his thoughts are a contradiction to that.

It’s just lust, Frank tells himself. He’s not actually attracted to him, he just likes the way that Gerard’s pants fit him. He doesn’t like Gerard. He likes the _idea_ of Gerard, and the way that he’s so passionate about his job. Frank can’t get the thoughts to go the fuck away.

He turns his head to look over at the sleeping Patrick in the bed across the room. It reminds him of being a kid at camp, and having to room with other kids. It’s different under these circumstances though, because they’re trying to arrest people. He wishes he could be in his own bed, safe from anyone’s watchful eye.

Frank knows it’s a dangerous place to be, but he lets his mind go back to the night where Gerard had been so close to him, that Frank could feel his body’s warmth. Could feel his hard-on on his hip, and lips on his neck, brushing against his ear. Frank tries to fight down a shiver at the memory but fails miserably. He feels himself getting aroused at the memory and is suddenly angry. He has to stop thinking about the man that is only a few rooms away. So close, and yet he hates the stupid fucker. Why can’t Gerard stop entering his thoughts? Frank decides he hates Gerard even more because of how many times a day he winds up thinking about him.

He is completely furious that Gerard would play with him like this. What was Gerard _thinking_? Hell, what was _Frank_ thinking? Who does Gerard think he is? What does it all mean? Most of all, why the fuck does he enjoy it? He’s supposed to be a federal agent, and he’s always thought that there was some sort of composure in that, but he sees now that that is far from true. No one has any clue as to what they’re doing and it aggravates him.

Frank feels the beginning of a headache coming on due to all the questions that haven’t been answered. His blood pumps in his ears, and his eyes hurt from the way they roll up in his head when he thinks back.

He wishes even more now than a minute ago that he was alone. It’s not like he can really take care of _things_ with Patrick right there. Though he is very thankful that it’s not Gerard he has to share a room with. That would be awful. He’d probably have woken up to Gerard holding a pillow over his mouth, or had Gerard put a pillow over his mouth and not wake up at all. 

Frank sighs again, frustrated and throws an arm over his eyes. It’s going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The mystery element of this story is kind of revealed in the next chapter.


	10. From A Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boom.

“We got results from the lab, and they think they know what’s up,” Hayley says holding up a sheet of paper at the table.”

“Fuck, is it what I think it is?” Gerard asks.

“Where are Patrick and Frank?” Hayley asks, “it’s better we’re all here for this.”

“Shit, it is, isn’t it?” Gerard says, letting his head fall to the counter. Brendon looks at him curiously and then calls the names of the other two. It’s nearly lunchtime, and they’re on peeping tom duty.

“What is it?” Frank groans, jumping down the stairs followed by Patrick a few steps behind.

“Well I’m pretty sure we know what’s going on over there,” Hayley says.

“Meth?” Patrick guesses.

Gerard shakes his head, “it was the duct tape that clued me in. I’ve spent too much time narcing to be fooled by it.”

“What is it?” Brendon asks, because apparently Gerard and Hayley are the only ones who have any idea on what’s going on.

Gerard gives Hayley a look with no words, but a million tacit ones, and she nods to him, “it’s bombs.”

“What was that,” Brendon asks, hoping unimaginably that he heard wrong.

“Bombs,” Gerard says, “nothing else makes sense.”

“He’s right,” Hayley confirms.

“Whoa, we’re on a drugs bust! Drugs. Drugs! We’re looking for fucking meth not bombs!” Frank yells exasperatedly.

“Doesn’t mean that we can’t have been wrong,” Hayley says snottily.

“But... but _bombs_? Explosives? Things that go boom?” Brendon asks. Had Frank said that, Gerard would have torn him to shreds for a comment like that.

“That’s what the lab reports say. The combination of chemicals can all be used for bomb making. Sulfur, acetone and peroxide… it’s bombs!”

“And the random trips out to get supplies,” Frank says, warily adding it up, “and those things are hard to buy in bulk, because of their use in drugs and-”

Gerard picks up with Franks trail and says, “And explosives. We also saw them buying duct tape which can be used as insulation which would-”

“Be used to make sure that the bombs don’t go off too early, and since-” Patrick continues.

“Most of the bodily damage done by bombs is done from additives like nails. It’s the shrapnel that causes most of that injury,” Hayley concludes.

“They’re building a bomb,” Brendon says, looking gobsmacked, “A really huge _bomb_.”

“We need a warrant,” Gerard says looking panicked and jumping up quickly.

“It’s no good though! This is all immaterial evidence, based off of suspicion, we have no way to prove any of this,” Hayley says and she looks freaked out as well.

“But we’re talking about a bomb, and with the amount of supplies they’ve got it’s a giant bomb. That’s got to be a few blocks radius! I know enough about bombs to know that they’re going to target a place with a lot of people all in one small vicinity. This could be _thousands_ of lives, Hayley.”

“Yeah but we have nothing tangible,” Brendon says looking scared.

“I don’t care, people’s lives are at risk! Do you realize that if they make one error, screw up a tiny bit, everyone in this neighborhood, including _us_ are going to go down in the blast?” Gerard says.

“Fuck,” Frank says, “I mean I knew what I was getting into when I took this job, but this could be a city block. Kids could die!”

“But we can’t take action-“

“I’m in charge!” Gerard says, “We have to move.”

“You can’t get backup without a warrant Gerard, what’re you going to do?”

“Distract them,” he says confidently.

“Distract them? Distract them how?”

“There’s always someone in the house right? The three of them never leave all at once, so at any given time there is at least one person in that house, but what if we force them out?”

“Draw them out using a decoy,” Patrick says catching on.

“Right, and one of us sneaks in to gather proof,” Gerard says.

“Still risky and you’re bending the rules,” Brendon shakes his head.

“We don’t have another choice though, okay?” Gerard says, hoping no finds a flaw in his plan. He’s pretty sure there’s something, but he hasn’t figured it out yet.

“How do you want to draw them out?”

“Ever seen the Book of Mormon?” Patrick offers.

“Not going to work, it’s not going to give us enough time to execute,” Gerard shakes his head.

Frank snorts and says sarcastically, “Maybe he’s got a sweet tooth, you could send an ice cream truck rolling by.”

“Shut up if you’re not going to help,” Gerard snaps.

Frank grimaces, “well it seems obvious to me, you just have to wait for one our guys to take a smoking break. They all take breaks periodically throughout the day, so wait for one or two to leave on a supply run, and then wait for the other to take a break.”

“That’s actually not a bad plan,” Patrick says with a nod.

“Suppose he cuts his break short, then what are you going to do?” Gerard points out.

“Maybe his new neighbors need some advice on where to go in the city,” Hayley says, “after all they are from out of town.”

“No, I’m going to go in that house,” Gerard says sternly, “I’m not risking anyone of you getting caught in there by either those men, or my boss. You’d get suspended, and I’m not going to risk that. This is my team, I take the risks, if any blowback happens, by death or loss of a job, it’s my weight to take on.”

Frank’s eyebrows wrinkle together when he hears that. Gerard said ‘any.’ Meaning that Gerard would risk both his life and job for all of them, including Frank. He supposes Gerard’s just exaggerating, or he doesn’t include Frank in that statement. He just forgot that Frank is there, probably.

“You could die in there if they catch you,” Hayley reminds him.

“But it’s better than any of you dying!” Gerard responds, “And I knew that could happen when I took this position.”

“I hate to be the one who says this, because it’s a good idea, but evidence obtained through illegality is inadmissible in Federal court,” Brendon reminds him.

“Fuck!” Gerard says, “Inevitable discovery?”

Brendon shakes his head, and Gerard wonders when Brendon became the rule follower, “No dice, man. That wouldn’t hold.”

“What’s inevitable discovery?” Frank asks.

“Did you pay any attention in class?” Gerard snaps.

“It’s textbook stuff, Frank,” Brendon says, taking Gerard’s side for this one, “Inevitable discovery means someone, maybe not a cop, but _someone_ would have discovered the evidence with time. Like if you murder a guy, stick him in your closet, and the cleaning lady finds the corpse.”

“Probable cause?” Gerard guesses.

“If the evidence is gained through illegal means, without any specific reason other than suspicion, it’s void,” Hayley states.

“This is fucking awful!” Gerard yells, “There’s a motherfucking bomb. A bomb, and we can’t do a fucking thing about it.”

“Not necessarily nothing. We might be able to do something with inevitable discovery?” Frank says, his stupidly defined eyebrows furrowed on his stupidly pretty face. Thinking about Frank’s face, leads to Gerard thinking about other things about Frank. Everything about Frank that he wants to hate, don’t anger him like they should, but instead turn him on.

“ _Great_ ,” Gerard thinks furiously, “ _not only is there a bomb threat next door, I keep popping a fucking boner thinking about the most irritating person on the planet._ ” 

After Frank’s interjection and the thought that follows it, it doesn’t take long for his anger to take over. Gerard is practically steaming out his ears.

“Yeah? And what, convince a random fucking stranger to walk in on the perps? Stage a breakin? We’re Feds! Like that would work, and even if it did that would never hold up in court! Don’t talk unless you’ve got something intelligent to say, Frank,” Gerard all but spits at him.

“I was just trying to give some input, seeing as you’re not doing it,” Frank bites back immediately. 

“Guys, enough! I’m tired of this bullshit. Gerard, Frank, you both go cool off if you’re not going to help,” Hayley says, no room for argument in her voice. Gerard feels like he keeps being put into time outs when Frank is around. He’s the boss! The boss! The motherfucking boss. He’s supposed to be the one telling people to go home when they’re not working well with others. He’s not supposed to be called out by his inferiors! It’s not that Gerard sees Hayley as inferior, but he does rank higher than her at any rate.

Gerard gives one last smoldering glare in Frank’s direction before stomping towards his room, and slamming his door like the hormonal teenager he’s acting like. Frank makes a face, but doesn’t move anywhere, he just crosses his arms and tries to make himself smaller.

Gerard thinks to himself, plopping down on his bed, that it might not be a bad thing for him to have been sent away. His pants are kind of uncomfortable at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment pwease!


	11. Or A Love Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is... well this is... like, hm. It's an important chapter.

It’s been exactly one hour and twenty-three minutes. One hour and twenty-three minutes since Gerard was sent to his room like a spoiled teenager, and he’s feeling fed up with taking orders. He opens the door and peers out, only to see an empty hallway. Down the stairs he inches his way, and runs into no one. There isn’t a soul in the kitchen anymore, so he walks over to the fridge. He’s not really hungry, but he will be later, and there is no way in hell he is going to spend any more time than necessary in a house that Frank could be lurking in.

“Hayley ungrounded you, I see,” Frank’s obnoxious voice startles him, and he drops an apple onto the floor with a small thud. He looks over his shoulder to see Frank smirking at him while leaning on the doorframe.

“Didn’t your mom ever teach you it’s not polite to stare?” Gerard retorts, picking up the apple and closing the fridge.

“Not when it was zoo animals.” 

“I don’t think you have room to talk, shrimp. Still not tall enough for the big rides?” Gerard snarls menacingly, taking a bite out of the apple.

“Fuck you. You’re not that much taller than me, asshole,” Frank pushes himself off the door frame, and steps into the warm kitchen, his cologne suddenly filling Gerard’s nostrils.

“Still tall enough to hang with the big kids,” Gerard shrugs.

“Like they’d go near you looking like you’re about to gouge their eyes out,” Frank quickly replies, not willing to let Gerard win this particular battle.

“You’re one to talk. You’re really not much of a looker, are you?” Gerard says callously, completely disagreeing with himself. The whole statement contradicts his thoughts, as he looks at Frank’s big hazel eyes surrounded by thick lashes, his cute button nose, and then to complete his look he has those full pink lips.

Frank snorts disbelievingly, “I beg to differ. I’m pretty sure you find me attractive.”

“As if.”

“We both know that you think I’m hot, okay? Just drop the act, and stop lying to me, and yourself,” Frank says.

“Fuck off. You’re so stuck-up. How can anyone as hideous as you love yourself so much?” Gerard asks, “If I had a face like that, I’d probably make an investment in plastic surgery, but I don’t think you could really fix _that_.”

“If it ain’t broke, than don’t fix it,” Frank says, with conniving indifference.

“You disgust me,” Gerard spits.

“Because you totally want me,” he coos.

Gerard raises an eyebrow, “Want you in a grave plot.” 

“You’re either in denial, or trying to make me believe something that you don’t believe yourself. It’s not like I’m blind. I turn you on, don’t I?”

“Like hell you do.”

Frank smirks, “Oh I _so_ do.”

Gerard steps back as Frank inches closer, gaining his confidence over the taller man.

“You’re so hopelessly misguided,” Gerard says, voice quivering.

Frank hears the hesitancy and snorts, “Do you think I’m pretty, Gee?”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Do I make you horny baby?” Frank purrs in a ridiculous accent, making Gerard freeze. His body stiffens as he remembers himself saying those exact words. 

Gerard’s mind flashes back to the night of the strip club, with Frank’s body pressed up against his. It galvanizes a spot in his mind, and all he can think about was how close Frank had been. How close he got to doing something with the man he loathes so much. Gerard looks down, his eyelids blocking Frank’s view of the glossed over look in his eyes from the flashback.

Frank watches as Gerard suddenly tenses up at his words, and his eyes go blank for a second. At that moment, Frank realizes that Gerard is remembering that fateful night, and that it’s not the first time he remembers. He looks up and that’s all the confirmation Frank needs to grab Gerard, and roughly lead him to his room.

They need to talk.

Gerard is pulled behind Frank so forcefully he couldn’t stop it if he tried. He might even have some bruising on his wrist later. He’s anxious to see what Frank has to say, but the thought crosses his mind that he just gave it away. He threw away the charade of ignorance, and now Frank is going to call him out on it. His only defense was that he didn’t remember that night, and now it’s all gone. This isn’t going to be pretty.

When they get to the room, Frank pushes Gerard confrontationally. Gerard looks around the room with terror, and then eases up when he sees that it’s empty apart from them.

“You remember, I know you do,” Frank says, going up to Gerard.

“What?” Gerard asks.

“You fucking remember and you’ve been lying about it! What do you think you can do? Just go around pretending nothing happened, because it did! A lot of shit has happened, and you’ve been completely avoiding it like if you pretend it didn’t happen then the feelings will go away,” Frank says, blazingly angry with the way that Gerard’s acting so defensive.

“Feelings? What the hell do you mean by feelings?” Gerard questions, but even as he says it he’s nervous to hear Frank’s response.

“Oh don’t even play that game with me,” Frank slams the door behind him, closing them both into the room, “you know precisely what happened. You’ve noticed this.... stuff!”

Frank mimes frantically from himself to Gerard, not being able to find the precise words.

“What the hell are you suggesting? Do you think, do you _actually_ think that I have feelings for _you_?” Gerard asks, but from the tone of his voice it’s more of an accusation.

“Oh, because coming onto me twice now is completely inconsequential,” Frank snarls.

“Twice? I have not... once! While I was _drunk_! You’ve completely skewed this to make it seem like it’s one sided though! Like you didn’t have any fault in the first time,” Gerard says alluding to the time a few days ago when they had had yet another argument, and Frank had essentially thrown himself at Gerard.

“So you getting off on arguments is supposedly my fault now?” Frank says, with sarcasm lacing his words brutally.

“You know what you fucking did, Frank!” Gerard says, “And I, in no way, have feelings for you. Actually that’s not true, my feelings for you are of complete and utter loathing.”

“Same here,” Frank says.

“So we can just pretend it didn’t happen then. I was drunk, and you... you were, ugh,” Gerard doesn’t have the right words to say what he’s thinking.

“I didn’t take advantage of you though,” Frank says, feeling offended.

“I didn’t say you did,” Gerard answers, not having expected that response from Frank. “But I was drunk, it’s not like I actually wanted to, uh, you know.”

“Oh right?” Frank snorts, “totally didn’t want to. That’s why you get turned on by arguing with me, huh? Because I have no effect on you whatsoever.”

“I do not!” Gerard says loudly then panics, not wanting someone to overhear them yelling again. If Brendon catches them having a shouting match one more time than he may take a more serious course of action.

“Yeah right,” Frank says, and he’s getting into Gerard’s personal space again. He’s backing Gerard up against the same wall where the previous incident occurred. He just keeps stepping closer and closer. Gerard doesn’t know what to do, whether he should run now so that he doesn’t have to deal with this, or stay so he can scratch off the itch of curiosity.

Gerard gulps and looks anywhere but at Frank, “you don’t know me! I don’t like you, okay? I mean, you’re-”

He’s cut off by Frank halting directly in front of him, barely half a foot away.

“I mean I’m not going to deny that, uh, physically maybe you’re not exactly unappealing,” Gerard says the word quickly, hating himself for saying it at all, “but you repulse me with your- your, uh, attitude, and t-temper.”

“So you _are_ attracted to me?” Frank says as if he’s won the battle.

“No. You’re horrendous,” Gerard spits, feeling a little more courageous.

Frank’s not buying it though, he sees the sweat on Gerard’s face from nerves, and he’s totally into it if he’s being truthful.

“You know, I wouldn’t have minded it,” Frank says shrugging. Gerard looks at him confused, because he has no idea what he’s referring to.

“Minded what?”

Frank’s smile looks evil, but it’s pissing Gerard off that he likes the way it looks on Frank. This is so weird. It’s like that incident is happening all over again. Everything, right down to the backing up to the wall, and the argument, and the less than enough room in his pants.

“If you weren’t drunk, I don’t think I’d have done nearly as much protesting. Probably wouldn’t have protested at all,” Frank shrugs again like it’s no big deal.

What the hell is he saying though? Gerard’s trying to smack himself out of this nightmare or daydream or whatever this is, but it’s not working. This is happening, this is real. Frank has him pressed against the wall, and they’re practically touching. It’s all very inexplicable.

“What do you m-mean?” Gerard stutters. He’s totally baffled by this side of Frank. This animalistic, almost seductive person.

“You know exactly what I mean, Gerard,” Frank strings the name out sending a shiver through Gerard’s entire body. It’s plainly obvious that neither one of them needs to look down to clarify anything this time. They both know that the other is on the same level. They both know what they’re doing to each other.

“Y-you know what, Frank? You’re kind of an asshole,” Gerard says.

“You know what, Gerard? You too.”

“Well then,” Gerard says. It feels like the argument is over, but whatever is happening is definitely not over. He doesn’t know what the hell _is_ happening though.

“Yep,” Frank smiles and his eyebrows raise themselves menacingly. He’s daring Gerard to stop this. He’s openly challenging Gerard to walk away right now, but they both know that’s not going to happen.

“Um,” is all Gerard manages. He can’t think clearly, because he’s still not convinced that any of this is real, and not some disillusioned wet dream.

It’s Frank who makes the first move, and if it isn’t cavalier as all hell, “take off your shirt.”

Gerard’s past the point of thinking things through, or thinking about the consequences. This is happening and he is not at all willing to stop it. Part of him thinks he’s wanted this since the incident that Brendon so rudely interrupted, but maybe it’s been a craving he’s had for longer.

His head is spinning, and the world is kind of tipping, and Gerard’s distinctly aware of someone’s hand at his zipper, but his eyes are closed and he’s trying to keep himself from falling out of reality. This is reality, this is not just a figment of his imagination.

Then Frank’s mouth is on his neck, making Gerard’s head fall back on his shoulders, and that’s right about when Gerard completely loses it. That’s when he just decides to accept it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something tells me that you guys liked this chapter.


	12. A Shining Example Of Why I Don't Sleep At All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

Gerard doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He looks over at Frank and his stomach falls, because he really didn’t just imagine what just happened. Nope. That was real. Frank’s lying on the other side of the bed looking at the wall, and Gerard doesn’t know what to do.

It’s only the middle of the afternoon and he just fucked his coworker. Not only did he fuck his coworker, he fucked the one coworker he really hates. Things could not get worse than this. Frank is literally right there, and he’s naked, and Gerard just saw him naked. He saw _Gerard_ naked, and his mind is spiraling out of control. He can’t believe that this just happened.

He comes to the conclusion that he does not feel any differently about Frank. This changes nothing. He still hates Frank. With a fiery passion, he hates Frank. He just so happened to have sex with the guy he hates. Very wild sex. Gerard’s brain is soaring, and he’s trying to forget about what just happened, because there’s no way this is real. He cannot believe he did that, and he’s both mad and proud of himself.

He’s mad because, ew, that’s Frank over there, and he’s proud because, hey, that’s Frank over there. He’s good looking, there’s no denying that, but he’s also a bitch.

Gerard looks down over the side of the bed, and grabs at his boxers carefully, so as not to move the bed, and make Frank realize he’s doing anything. He’s really worried about Frank seeing him again, and he doesn’t know why, because he did just have the guy’s dick in his ass, but it’s all very hard to keep straight in his head.

Gerard pulls his boxers, pants and then a shirt on messily. Frank doesn’t budge in his position, even though Gerard’s sure he’s conscious. Frank’s eyes are open, and he’s resting his head on his hand. He doesn’t stir when Gerard starts to get up from the bed, and he doesn’t even look like he takes notice.

He’d originally thought that he was going to have to sneak out of the room, but Frank isn’t paying him any mind, so Gerard just saunters across the room. He leaves the room, closing the door behind him, and Gerard finally lets out a long held breath. He cannot even process what just happened. His mind is all jumbled, because none of that could have been real.

Frank is attractive, sure, but Gerard is almost driven insane by the fact that he screwed the guy. He knows that it’s too late to rule out hallucination though. That happened, and now he has to live with it.

Gerard walks slowly to the kitchen, trying to remember where he put his apple. 

“Gerard?” A voice asks, when he steps into the kitchen. He turns the corner to see Brendon sitting on the stool at the counter.

“Yeah,” Gerard says groggily, and he slouches against the other side of the counter. He’s facing Brendon, but he puts his head down and almost falls to the floor completely, because his arms are the only thing supporting him right now.

“Why was there a half-eaten apple on the floor?” Brendon asks.

“I... don’t know,” Gerard replies, having his question asked for him. He’s kind of hungry though, and he wishes that the food hadn’t gone to waste. 

“It had very small teeth marks,” Brendon notes, and apparently Brendon is using his sixth sense to read Gerard’s mind.

Gerard doesn’t reply, he just lets his forehead thump down onto the cold laminate counter. He’s got another headache, only this one is trying to tell him that he’s a gigantic idiot.

“Alright, tell me what’s wrong,” Brendon says. He seriously has a career as a psychic should he ever decide to quit his job.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Gerard says, feeling sick to his stomach just thinking about it, and also a little pleased.

“Well, we both know you’re going to tell me, so go on” Brendon says, sounding sure of himself.

Gerard groans loudly, “Brendon, I did something really bad.”

“What’d you do?”

“Really really bad.”

“What did you do?” Brendon repeats.

“Like Satan is probably going to put this in his blooper reel. He’s going to point and laugh at me, and say that I’m such a horrible person, because I just did what I did,” Gerard says.

“What did you _do_?”

“I um... I sort of went down on Frank.”

“You did what?” Brendon asks looking shocked and horrified.

“Yeah,” Gerard says in a small voice and he looks at Brendon like he’s ready to wince. It’s not that he’s worried that Brendon will hit him, he’s just worried about the verbal reaction he’s about to get.

“You blew a guy you hate?” Brendon says.

“No,” Gerard says meekly.

“No? So you didn’t blow a guy you hate?” Brendon asks hopefully.

“Well no. I did do that, but I also kind of, you know,” Gerard says, with his eyes closed and his hands covering his face.

“Oh great,” Brendon says, with pure exasperation, “I can’t even believe this.”

Gerard nods and frowns, “I’m, uh, sorry?”

Brendon gives him this face like he doesn’t want to even hear it, and says, “when did this happen?”

Gerard shrugs, “uh, like, twenty minutes ago.”

Brendon’s face gets even more inexplicable and he adds in a look of disgust, “You did this _while we were all in the house_?”

“Well, yeah,” Gerard says, “I wasn’t going to call you up and say ‘hey man could you take Hayley and Patrick out for tacos so I can bang Frank?’ because that would’ve kinda given it away. It was a spur of the moment thing. He figured out that I remembered that thing at the bar and he confronted me, and, I don’t know, we just sort of did it.”

Brendon shakes his head, “I cannot believe this. I cannot believe you. Gerard, you could get into so much trouble. This is his second week on the job! He’s been here for like eight days and you’ve already gone and screwed him.”

“It’s not like I make a habit of this sort of thing! Brendon, I didn’t screw you or Patrick when you joined my team, did I?”

Brendon makes a face, “you weren’t my boss when I joined the team, and also, that’s disgusting, you’re Gerard.”

“What, I’m not pretty enough for you?”

“Gerard, we are not going to do this right now. You are not going to steer us off the topic. We both know that you should not have done what you just did.”

“Well what do you want me to do? Go over to the kid and apologize? Tell him I’m sorry for letting him do me? Do you think that’s the right thing to do?” Gerard says, looking at Brendon like _he’s_ the idiot in this situation.

Brendon puts his head in his hands for a moment and tries to gather his thoughts, “So let me get this straight. You and Frank just did it.”

“Yep,” Gerard nods.

“And does that mean you like him or-”

“Ew! No. Oh god no. That’s disgusting, Brendon. Watch your dirty mouth. I do not, I do _not_ , like Frank. Gross.”

“You just screwed him!” Brendon reminds him.

“Yeah, because he’s hot! I don’t _like_ him. I’m not inhuman. There’s no one in the world who could ever possibly like that thing. So what if we just did what we did, I will never ever like him. Ever.”

Brendon looks at him incredulously, waiting for Gerard to say something else completely horrific and out of character. Gerard is looking at him like Brendon is the strange one though. It’s like he doesn’t even realize what he said.

“Have you lost your fucking mind, Gerard?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“You fucking stupid fucker! You fucking fucked fucking _Frank_!” Brendon hisses, trying to keep his voice quiet, while also trying to express how dumbfounded he is.

“Well it was more like the other way around,” Gerard shrugs.

“Do not even go there. I don’t want details, Gerard. I don’t want to hear any more of what happened, okay? Just let me pretend that all you two did was play a game of checkers,” Brendon says, “and you do realize that playing checkers kind of institutes a different sort of tension. You know you can’t just play checkers with a guy and expect no repercussions.”

“Oh please. Frank doesn’t like me anymore than I like him. We both hate each other,” Gerard says.

“Did you ask him?”

“Why on earth would I talk to him?”

“Gerard! Can you even imagine the gravity of this all? You are such an idiot!”

“I know! I’m sorry. I mean, I wasn’t thinking. It just happened, and you can’t really tell your mind to stop and start thinking rationally in the moment. There’s really not enough blood up there.”

“Gerard! No. Ew. No! Shut up. I said no details,” Brendon says, “so where do you go from here? Checkers is a huge thing for two people to play. I mean you two... kinged each other.”

“Nothing is going to happen. I swear! Nothing. I don’t like Frank, he doesn’t like me, we hate each other. It was a fluke. We made this mistake, okay? We’ll just put it behind us. I promise, I mean there’s no way in hell I could ever look at him as anything but a dumb midget.”

“Gerard, we have both seen the movie No Strings Attached.”

“My life isn’t a movie,” Gerard says.

“Yeah, but you can’t pretend it didn’t happen, because it did,” Brendon tells him.

“I’m not going to ask him to sleep with me again!”

“You mean play checkers.”

Gerard groans and rolls his eyes, “yes fine. I’m not going to ask him to _play checkers_ again. It was a one-time thing. A one-night stand.”

“But that implies that you met the guy at a bar and took him home, then never saw him again! That’s not what this is, you fucking moron! You work with him. You see him every day! You can’t sleep with him. You shouldn’t have in the first place. You could get into trouble, or something,” Brendon says.

“Well it’s not like we’re going to parade around what happened. You’re not going to tell anyone, I’m not going to tell anyone, and I will gag Frank into keeping quiet.”

“Why’d you tell me in the first place?” Brendon asks.

“Well you’re my best friend,” he shrugs, “and Mikey told me he’d chop it off if I ever tried to talk to him about sex again.”

“What do you mean by ‘it’... oh wait, never mind. I got it,” Brendon makes a disgusted face, “I never made any promises that I’d refrain from eviscerating you.”

“I confided in you!” Gerard says irately. 

“Please don’t,” Brendon says, “in the future, talk to someone else.”

“Who? My pet rock?”

Brendon nods, like he actually thinks Gerard’s going to talk to a boulder. Gerard doesn’t have a pet rock, but if he did, he’d name it Dwayne. Gerard just makes a face, and Brendon huffs, starting a wordless conversation that mostly consists of glares.

In the other room, Frank pulls himself up in his bed, and peers around the room. He’s trying to figure out why he allowed that to happen. Why he _instigated_ it. That’s not him. He doesn’t do things like this.

Frank puts his boxers on lazily, then climbs back under his covers miserably. Frank reaches over to the bed stand where his mangled phone rests. The screen is cracked, and it makes a game of dropping calls, but it still works. His hands instinctively call the number of the only real person he can talk to right now.

“Alex?” Frank mumbles when a click on the other end signals that someone’s picked up.

“Are you in a tunnel or something?” he asks.

“No, I just have a broken phone that I haven’t replaced yet,” Frank replies.

“Why did you hang up on me the other day?”

“I didn’t,” Frank grumbles, “you know my shitty boss? He threw my phone at the wall.”

“He did what?” Alex asks.

“He threw my phone at the wall when he heard me insulting him. I mean, it wasn’t unwarranted offense, but he totally overreacted.”

“Oh man. That’s awful. Can you report him or something?”

“I’m not going to give him even more reason for him to hate me,” Frank says, rolling over on his side on the bed.

“So speaking of your boss, how’s it going with him?”

Frank makes a really undescriptive whining sound, which almost sounds like a cry, but it turns into a growl.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t speak whatever the fuck that just was,” Alex says.

“I don’t know what happened, man. Like, my boss, his name is Gerard-”

“Gerard. Okay,” Alex replies, almost like he’s checking something off on a list.

“And he’s, like, fuck,” Frank sighs, and quiets his voice into a whisper, “okay, so he’s like really hot. I will murder if you tell anyone I said that, but he is. _Super_ hot.”

“Okay?”

“Well, so. I don’t know what happened. I really don’t. Essentially, when he threw my phone at the wall, I kind of, like, _we_ kind of had this... moment.”

“Moment?” he asks nervously.

“Yeah, moment. I don’t know what happened really. But the dude gets off from arguing. He was totally, just, you know what I mean,” Frank says.

“He, wait what? He was turned on by arguing? “

“Yes!” Frank says, a little too loudly.

“Oh god, I do not want him on my debate team,” Alex replies.

“Yeah, no me neither,” Frank says and then starts rambling, “But anyway, this moment thing happened, and then it got interrupted, and then Gerard got super drunk. The dude was wasted, it was hardcore. He started coming onto me while he was drunk, okay? And I hate him, and he hates me, but he was totally hot for me, but I kind of excused it, because he was so fucked, and then he forgot all about it by the next day. He had no memory of it, and then I just found out that he totally did remember it and had been lying it to me! He remembered everything, and anyway, what I’m trying to say is that I banged the guy.”

“Whoa there. What was that last part?”

“You heard me, I’m not saying it again,” Frank says.

“Oh my god, Frankie. That is a Darth Vader of a plot twist.”

“I know! I didn’t mean, well I mean, I _meant_ to. Like, it wasn’t an accident, I don’t know how you can make an accident that huge, but it wasn’t really something I’d intended to do. I didn’t wake up this morning, and think ‘hey I should tap the guy I want to push in front of a moving train.’ That wasn’t something I was necessarily trying for, but now it’s happened, and I don’t know what to fucking do!”

Alex makes a sound like a disgruntled elephant, and says, “So you seriously did that? You’re not playing me?”

“No! I did, and I can’t even think right now, because I’m fucking pissed at myself.”

“So you regret it?”

Frank shrugs, but then realizes Alex can’t see him and says, “Well I mean, the actual act of it I don’t regret, the guy is a good fuck, but the fact that it was Gerard is what I really regret.”

“Alright, too much information, but what do you want me to tell you? You want me to tell you that you should apologize, or give you a pat on the back and tell you everything is going to be okay? I mean Frank, you’re the one who messed up. So did he. You both messed up. Now you two have to try to deal with this. You have to get over the bump. It’s your mistake to console.”

“God, I know! I know, okay? I’m just so... I don’t know. I’m angry and confused. I wish, fuck, I wish I didn’t do this!” Frank responds.

“Yeah, but you did. You have to face it now. We all do dumb things. You hate the guy though still? It sounds like you do, so try to find some, um, common ground or something. You can’t really pretend that it didn’t happen. I mean, you could propose that to him, but really, it’s your weight to bare.”

“I fucked up so much,” Frank covers his eyes with his hand and tries to turn back time to rewrite what happened.

“Yeah, you did. You’ll live through it though. Just swallow your pride, and make peace with it, because you can wish it didn’t happen all you want, but that’s not going to do anything to change the past,” Alex tells him.

“I fucking hate that you’re right.”

“Well _you_ called _me_ , so I’m assuming that you knew I’d be right before I even picked up the phone,” he says.

Frank mopes into his pillow and groans again, “Alright. I’m an idiot, but I know that I do have to accept it.”

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize, you’re right. I wish there weren’t a problem that needed solving, but I’ll try my best to come up with a solution.”

“I think ‘solution’ is aiming a little too high, Frank. Settlement maybe?”

“Yeah, you’re right. I guess I should hang up, because I have a few hours of screaming at my pillow ahead of me, and I doubt you want to be there for it.”

“No, I’m good thanks. Talk to you later, Frankie.”

“Bye,” Frank says, “And wish me luck in this fucking nightmare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, because there was a lot to say.


	13. Like A Bad Joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets serious.

“I want to talk about what happened,” Frank says.

“I don’t,” Gerard replies flagrantly.

“Well that’s exactly the attitude I was hoping for from you,” Frank replies.

“What did you expect?” Gerard replies.

Gerard has come to the conclusion that Brendon is absolutely, undeniably, certifiably insane. He is officially off his bonkers. He forced Frank and Gerard to have the same shift watching the house across the street. They have the same shift. With each other. How did Brendon _think_ this was going to go?

Of course for the past several hours they’ve been suppressing the desire to strangle each other. Frank is really pushing it by bringing up what Gerard has officially dubbed as ‘the incident.’

“We have to talk about it someday,” Frank says.

“You’re right. I’ll pencil you in for some time next millennium.”

“Pretending is not going to do anyone any good,” Frank states.

“You’re wrong. It will do me a whole lot of good. I will never be able to sleep again at night if I have to even think about _the incident_.”

“You say that like we killed some guy. This isn’t a film noir. It’s not like it’s a bigger deal than assassination.”

“No, it definitely isn’t as big a deal as killing people. I’ve killed people before, and it wasn’t nearly this awful afterwards,” Gerard says, “It will certainly require more therapy to get over how disgusting you are than it was after that.”

“Come on,” Frank says angrily, “I am not that bad, have you seen you? Maybe you should try a mirror sometime, because you’re not a bed of roses.”

“Have you ever heard of friendly fire?”

“You’re a bitch.”

Gerard scoffs, “so are you.”

“Not as bad as you.”

“Oh really?” Gerard says icily.

“Absolutely. I’ve never shot anybody so that’s one point for me,” Frank says.

“You’ve never saved your partners life, because someone shot at them either though, have you? I bet you Brendon appreciates still breathing, thank you very much,” Gerard scolds him.

“Specifics,” Frank deflects.

“Yes specifics! The specifics are fucking important. And believe me, that scotch free record ain’t gonna last forever.”

“I’ve also never thrown someone’s cellphone at a wall,” Frank says.

“I’ve never squealed to my prissy dumbass friends about how much I hate my boss,” Gerard rebuttals.

“But you have said an awful lot about how much you hate me to Brendon,” Frank says.

“Brendon’s my best friend.”

“The guy I was on the phone with was _my_ best friend!” Frank shouts. Gerard vaguely remembers that it’s only about seven in the morning so they’re probably interrupting the sleep of everyone in the house, but really, it’s Brendon’s fault. If he wanted a good night’s sleep, he shouldn’t have paired Frank and Gerard to work together. Stupid planning on his part.

“But he doesn’t know me! There’s a difference between saying ‘oh I hate the new guy for being a fucking bitch,’ and ‘this guy you’ve never met is a bitch,’ because he’ll take your word for it, since he’s never met me! You’re desecrating my reputation.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass. Your reputation is shit! You’re shit! Everything about you is shit, and I fucking hate you more than anything in the world,” Frank says.

“Way to use you’re vocabulary,” Gerard snarls. 

“Oh you want me to use my vocabulary? Thou art a royal pain in the buttocks, sir. Your infamous standing is complete manure. You are, by designation, guano. Every last thing about thine self is dung, and the animosity I hold for you is paralleled by no element on this entire planet. Oh, and I fucking hate you.”

“Go fuck yourself!”

Frank snorts and mocks, “you want to help?”

“You disgust me,” Gerard says, pulling his face into utter revulsion.

“Is that why you had sex with me?”

“We’re going to forget it ever happened,” Gerard says, standing up in his seat to look at Frank harshly.

Frank looks up at him and mouths words, but no sound escapes. He picks himself up from his seat as well, and balls his fists by his side. Frank has a lot of self-control right now for not knocking Gerard’s lights out.

Gerard is the one that snorts this time, as he looks at Frank and says, “I’m so intimidated. The guy who’s five feet shorter than me is angry.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Way.”

“Why? What are you going to do to me?” Gerard teases, “tie my shoelaces together?”

“I’m going to fucking kill you, you fucking prick!”

“Oh really? You’re too short to do enough damage, you’d probably just be one of those extras who dies in the movie when they try to fight off Godzilla.”

“You think? And you’re probably the over confidant bastard who thinks the battle is won before he even enters the warzone, and has his head blown off within seconds for comic relief. Dude, you’re like a dark-haired General Custer.”

Gerard grits his teeth, and stares down at Frank wishing he could mentally make the boys’ head implode.

“You better realize how lucky you are that I haven’t punched you in the face yet,” Frank says.

Gerard gives him a contemptuous face, “go on then. What do I care? Punch me right in the fucking face! If you can reach.”

Frank steps closer, and Gerard is kind of conflicted as to what he wants to happen. He’s on the fence between wanting to kick Frank in the balls, give his pretty little face a broken nose, or take his pants off.

Gerard’s eyes widen at the last thought, and he tells it to go away. All that does is make him vividly remember what happened the last time he’d had that kind of thought though.

“Your face is literally begging to be punched,” Frank says. He leaves the part out at the end where he wants to say ‘or kissed.’ Oddly enough, the two of them may have had wild hate sex the other day, but Frank’s never even kissed Gerard. It’s not really something you think about when the adrenaline is pumping. Frank’s not sure if he regrets that or not.

“I dare _you_ then,” Gerard says. The first time they dared each other to do anything they ended up grinding on each other, and Gerard is starting to realize that they’re almost the same distance from each other back then as they are now. 

Gerard’s face is turning a red color, and Frank’s a few minutes away from having steam come out of his ears.

“You can’t deny that you think I look good,” Frank spits at Gerard.

“I think you’d look good with two black eyes.”

“I think you’d look good hanging off the edge of a cliff,” Frank says.

“Yeah?” Gerard asks, and he asserts his slight advantage in height by pushing Frank backwards. It’s rather demeaning and Frank opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t think of the right words to describe how he hates the man in front of him.

“Definitely,” Frank responds.

“Then fucking do something, Frankie,” Gerard says surreptitiously. “I’m asking you to. Please.”

Gerard opens his arms out as if to embrace him, but it’s more of an invitation to attack him, and Frank’s trying to find a reason not to just hit him. Gerard did just call him Frankie. He’s having trouble finding the catch, because he’s highly tempted to just punch Gerard. He knows it’ll feel really good to hit the guy, and the cons are growing blurrier by the second.

“Alright,” Frank says.

“What?” Gerard asks, raising an eyebrow, but maintaining his poised bravado with a smirk.

“If you’re offering, I would be happy to knock you out,” Frank says.

“You’re not strong enough.”

“Wanna bet?” Frank takes a step closer, and he’s inches away from wiping that grin off of Gerard’s face.

Gerard unconsciously licks his lips at the closeness between him and Frank, and his eyes glance to the doorway to make sure that they are alone.

“I loath you,” Frank hisses and he’s so ready to just go for it.

“Wait!” Gerard stops Frank’s thoughts with a shout.

“Chickening out now? Really?” Frank asks, unimpressed.

“No! Look! Fucking look!” Gerard says, eyes popping out of his skull as he points elsewhere in the room. Frank rolls his eyes, because he’s not _that_ gullible.

“Like I’m going to fall for-”

“I said look!” Gerard shouts, and he spins Frank around to look in the direction of the window. Frank is winded for a minute, but he blinks his vision back to normal, and he’s vaguely aware of Gerard walking past him to the window.

Frank thinks it’s some game Gerard is playing until he actually looks out the window himself, and sees the actual main attraction.

“What’re they...?”

“I don’t know,” Gerard says. The men across the street are loading up their car, and it does not look like a supply run this time. This looks like something else.

Neither of them were at all prepared for the daunting number of bombs there actually are.

“Shit! Frank they’re getting ready.”

“Getting ready for what?” Frank asks uneasily. The anger that had been there a minute ago immediately dissipated when Frank got an eye out the window.

“What do you think?” Gerard says.

“Fuck.”

“Precisely.”

“We have to do something!” Frank says.

“If we interfere and they drop one of those it will be dominoes, Frank. Everything will go off. Everything. One goes off and the rest follow. That’s enough explosives to take out an entire city block, what do you think it’s going to do in the middle of a residential street?”

“There’s families with kids all down the street!”

“We can’t risk a standoff that results in that number of deaths,” Gerard says.

“Well... but if we don’t than they’ll set them off somewhere else. You said so a few weeks ago, and if you follow the logic, they’re going to try to kill as many people as they can, right?”

“Right?” Gerard says.

“Well how many more people will they kill if we let them go now?”

“Could be a dozen more, could be a hundred.”

“So balance the tables,” Frank says.

“Frank, there’s five Federal Agents in this house,” Gerard reminds him.

“What? So we’re more valuable than other people who might die? We have to protect ourselves over the general public. Last I checked, it was about protecting _other_ people, not ourselves.”

“What! I didn’t say that! I didn’t mean that.”

“We have to do something. You said it yourself, we have the chance to stop something before it starts. This is that chance. If we don’t seize it, than this was all in vein, and we failed.”

Gerard shakes his head, and takes a long inhale of breath.

“Alright, we have to go,” Gerard says.

“What?” Frank questions, because he’s sure that just a moment ago, Gerard was refusing.

“Come on!” Gerard yells, and he starts grabbing at things around the room.

Frank’s about to ask him what he’s doing until Gerard grabs a glock, and holds it up to check the safety.

“Whoa, I need a gun?”

“What? Does that surprise you?” Gerard asks, looking at Frank like he’s the definition of stupid, “did it not occur to you that you might need to defend yourself?”

Frank splutters, and tries to sort out his thoughts, but it’s not an easy thing to do, because he’s freaking out.

“Grab your gun,” Gerard instructs, “and badge. Handcuffs won’t hurt.”

“But I-”

“I know you have a gun,” Gerard says, “You’re a federal agent. Of course you have a gun.”

“But I’ve never-”

Gerard throws something at him and Frank barely catches it to see that it’s a magazine of ammunition. Frank’s eyes widen, because he’s actually expected to shoot if something happens that requires him to. He is not prepared for that. It’s seven in the morning.

“I’ll wake up the rest of the house,” Gerard says, and he runs out of the room yelling. Frank blearily tries to assemble himself, but he’s feeling dizzy because he cannot believe this is happening. His stomach feels like mush, and he’s all of a sudden regretting every single choice he has ever made ever.

He regrets wanting to become a cop, and he regrets reminding Gerard that more people will die if they don’t act. He regrets that C- he got in tenth grade Biology because he really could have gotten a B if he’d worked a little harder. He regrets that one time when he forgot to hold the door open for the people behind him, and it slammed into a crotchety old man’s face.

“Frank, let’s go!” Gerard says, poking his head into the room, and Frank realizes he’s just stood there and had a time lapse for several seconds, if not a whole minute.

“O-okay?” Frank says, and he follows without a second thought. His feet seem to be moving without his input, because he’s sure that he wouldn’t have sent the brainwave to lead him to his untimely death.

Frank doesn’t even process that he’s running until he’s out the door following behind Gerard. Everything suddenly wipes from his brain. Every word of every textbook he’s ever read is obsolete, because this is real. This isn’t a simulator, or an essay, or a hypothetic. This is real.

He looks at the car in front of him, a large red truck that looks like it was purchased on a whim to overcompensate for something, and his blood freezes. His joins are stiff from nerves, because he’s never actually _done this_ before. He’s never seen a real bomb before. He’s starting to freak out a little.

Then Frank looks over at Gerard and he hates himself for the fact that Gerard looks so confident, striding across the pavement with such assurance. It makes Frank remember how Gerard thinks of him, the idiotic kid, and he decides to fake it. If he’s going to scream internally for fear of dying, than he’s not going to let Gerard see it.

The way that Gerard composes himself though, kind of stuns Frank. He’s an awkward son of a bitch, clumsy and uncertain in a lot of things, but right now he looks to be in his element. This is what he knows, and Frank feels it like a blow to the gut, because Gerard’s right. He does know nothing. He knows absolutely nothing about this life. He’s inexperienced and he acts too quickly without thinking first. He’s too spontaneous. Every word Gerard ever spit his way was absolutely true, and Frank feels even more terrified in realizing that.

Gerard pauses just before he crosses the street, and makes a gesture for Frank to stow his gun away. Frank’s never fired his gun before in an unsanctioned location. At a gun range, sure, but never in the real world. Gerard sticks the gun in the back of his pants and then pulls his sweatshirt over it to disguise it from view. Frank does the same, and then sticks his badge into his pocket.

He’s not an idiot, he knows this is one time where he really can’t start arguing with Gerard. He’s got to do what his boss says. Frank looks over his shoulder before they keep walking, and his heart jolts, because he doesn’t see Brendon or any of the rest of the team making their way over. The house doesn’t stir at all, and it makes his fear multiply a million times more.

Gerard turns to Frank and quickly says, “Remember our cover makes you my boyfriend. If things go south, I take lead, and you follow my instructions to a tee. Are we clear?”

Frank doesn’t have time to respond to anything, before Gerard is going up to the men who are still loading their car. They don’t seem to notice Gerard or Frank until they announce their presence.

“Hey excuse me!” Gerard shouts, and he steps closer to the car than someone normally would given any other circumstances.

“This isn’t the right time,” one of the men says. There’s three of them altogether. None of them are particularly interesting looking. One of them is young, about the same age as Gerard, but better groomed, with his hair sleek and smooth. Another one of them is big and balding, not very polite looking and the kind of guy you wouldn’t want to get in a bar brawl with. The last guy looks like he’s worked in a cubicle for all his life, he’s a very small, thin man, with dorky glasses that frame his head oddly, and a poor attempt at a comb over.

“Yeah, but my boyfriend and I were wondering if-”

“I said that now is not the right time!” the small man with the glasses says. Part of Gerard thinks he’s the least criminal looking guy he’s ever seen in his entire life. He looks like the kind of guy who lives alone and reads a lot of cookbooks. He doesn’t look like a hardened criminal, but then again, criminals come in all shapes and sizes.

“Hey, what’re you doing?” Frank asks, and Gerard doesn’t have the time to tell him that that’s a dumbass thing to ask.

“It doesn’t concern you,” the man replies.

Gerard’s always had a certain knack for reading people. He looks at the small man, and he tries to quickly get a read on what kind of person he is. On the outside he looks perfectly extraordinary, but the way he carries himself suggests that he’s deeply self-conscious, and trying to cover that up with fake poise. His eyes are twitchy, and hardly stay in the same place they were a second ago. It’s not that he keeps looking around, it’s that he seems to be unable to keep his pupils in focus. This suggests to Gerard that he’s extremely anxious about something. Probabilistically it’s the fact that he’s loading a bunch of explosives that could go off if they make any wrong moves.

Gerard also decides that the man had no kids. He doesn’t look the father type. He’s probably easily angered, but his demeanor suggests low status. He’s a nobody. A nobody with delusions of grandeur. That’s the most dangerous kind of man to faceoff with. They don’t care who lives or dies, they’ve already solidified their insignificance in their head. Men like him like to take as many people out in the crossfire as they can. He’s in charge here though. That’s obvious. Mr. Comb Over is the man with the plan.

“I think we really would like to have a word with you though. See, we’ve only just moved in,” Gerard tries, “and we’re not familiar with the city. We’re from out of state.”

“That’s what google is for,” the young one says with a gruff voice. Gerard recognizes him to be one of the men they’d heard at the bar. He assumes the big balding one is probably the other man they’d heard, the one with the southern accent.

Frank tries to play along and puts on a smile, and he nods along with Gerard’s cover story. He curses himself for when he’d pretended Gerard was his boyfriend a week ago, because now he has to feel that uncomfortable prickly sensation at the idea of it. He’s just done that to annoy Gerard, and now it’s eating him up too.

“But this one,” Frank points to Gerard generically, “isn’t good with technology and still hasn’t figured out how to setup the computer. We’re without internet still.”

Gerard smiles as well, although he wants to puke at the insinuation that they’re an item. He’s trying to pretend that _the incident_ didn’t happen. Obviously it did, so maybe this isn’t as big a lie as they’d wish. They’re not a couple, and they never will be, but they did sleep with each other. Once.

“Just back off, okay?” The young one says, and Gerard pulls Frank a few steps back, but he doesn’t move out of their driveway. They can’t let these men leave.

“Where’s the rest of the guys?” Gerard asks quietly through his teeth in a fake smile.

Frank thinks about it for a minute and then it hits him unpleasantly, “Fuck. We’ve been crying wolf, Gerard.”

“Fuck,” Gerard echoes as he realizes the gravity of the situation in full. They _have_ been crying wolf. Brendon, Hayley, and Patrick all think they’re just having another argument. Obviously they didn’t pay any attention to the yelling. Why should they? They have no idea what’s happening, they just think Frank and Gerard are at it again.

The realization sinks in for the both of them like a heavy weight.

They’re on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update from Helena: First of all, I'm sorry this is so late. I have wanted to update this for a week, but my coauthor has not responded to any of my emails, and still hasn't. She has a history of internet connectivity problems, but that's why this is so late, and I'm sorry.


	14. Seems Like I'm Making A Deal With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard does his best.

“Fuck,” Gerard thinks furiously, and curses all the times he yelled at Frank for being a shit. If he could’ve at least held his temper, they’d have backup right about now.

Frank looks like he feels. They both have the same desire to go running back inside and drag everyone out by their ear. He pats his pockets, tensing when he feels the gun stowed away there. He prays to any and all deities, from any and all religions, that they get out of this without having to use them.

Gerard thinks about calling the bomb squad because usually when there’s a bomb that needs disabling, you should call the people who deal with bombs for a living. Kind of like the Ghostbusters. You should generally call the department who has jurisdiction, and prior knowledge of the situation at hand. Were the problem a poltergeist, you would call the Ghostbusters. For bombs, it’s the bomb squad.

Gerard quickly realizes that he left his phone inside the house, and there’s no way he could pull that off without alerting the three people in front of him anyway. He feels dread settle in his stomach. They have no one or nothing to lean back on. It’s all on them.

“Baby, it’s our anniversary!” Frank says pouting like he’s disappointed, his voice trembling almost unnoticeably at the word ‘baby.’ Gerard understands completely, the way the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He doesn’t like pet names to begin with, but when it’s Frank handing them out, it’s a million times worse.

“If we don’t go somewhere we’ll just have to celebrate someway else,” Frank continues, licking his lips and trailing his finger down Gerard’s arm suggestively.

Gerard turns red and almost chokes when Frank slides his hand obviously into his free back pocket. Gerard has to fight off the instinct to throw Frank across the street and slap him repeatedly on the face. He grits his teeth, and tries not to think about the fact that he’s seen Frank naked and vice versa. 

“We’ll go out to eat don’t worry,” Gerard says, turning to put his arm around Frank reluctantly. Frank leans into it and puts his head on Gerard’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the taller man’s waist slowly. Gerard wants to puke because Frank is really warm, and smells nice, but he hates that he likes the way it feels when Frank is draped around him like that. 

“Do you guys know any place-”

“No, sorry,” the biggest man says, smiling forcibly, obviously trying to get them to leave. Gerard see’s that they’re almost finished loading the truck and scrambles for anything to prolong the inevitable.

“Are you sure? It’s actually our fifth year together, and we wanted to do something really special,” Gerard randomly declares, with the intent of being that annoying couple everyone knows who throw out unnecessary information. “I actually love telling the story! We met at this bar-”

“And he was so nervous, bless him. Almost dead on his feet. Poor thing,” Frank interrupts, turning to grin at Gerard, relating it to the first time they actually met. Gerard smiles tightly at the edges, and forces himself to laugh.

“Yes, I was wasn’t I? And so I went to, like to buy him a drink, because that’s what you do, and guess what he said? He said-”

“Listen. We are very busy right now, and would appreciate it if you left. Right now,” Mr. Comb Over says stalking up to them. Frank looks behind them, and pales when he notices they’ve finished loading up the truck.

“ _Oh shit_ ,” Frank thinks. “ _We’re going to die. We’re all going to die. I’m too young to die. I should’ve called my mom back last week. Oh god. I’m never going to see my best friend again. I’ll never be able to tell Gerard that I hate his guts again! I’m never going to see the new Star Wars Movies. That’s actually a relief if I’m being honest._ ” 

Frank almost blows his cover by screaming or something ridiculous like that, when Gerard speaks, “Oh, it won’t take up anytime at all. It’ll just be a second. Do you guys know where the nearest bakery is? If you can’t recommend any restaurants we could just pick up a cake on the way-”

“If you don’t get off my property I’m going to call the cops. Now beat it, faggots,” he stands close enough to look down on Gerard with their chests almost touching. Gerard stares at him for a second before smirking, and in a flash, his arm disappears off of Frank’s shoulder. The three men, all of whom have made it onto Gerard’s list, look to see he’s holding up his badge. Frank is also on Gerard’s list, but he’s not as high up. 

“Special agent Gerard Way at your service gentlemen. I know you wanted to talk to the cops, but maybe I can be of some assistance. This here is my totally platonic partner special agent Frank Iero, and we have reason to believe that you’re in possession of enough explosives to take out a city block,” Gerard says. He can’t stop his tongue from adding the ‘totally platonic’ thing, because he wants to reassure everyone, including himself, that they’re not actually dating.

The man looks at him like he’s insane for a moment, and studies the badge for a very long moment, before he steps back and raises an eyebrow. Gerard thought the dramatic reveal would hold more weight than this, but Mr. Comb Over looks incredibly unimpressed.

“I expected more of a reaction,” Gerard says to himself, “but you do realize that I’m going to ask you to put your hands up so that I can send you to jail for a very very long time, right? Like, that didn’t get lost on you, did it?”

“You have a warrant?” he asks.

“I have probable cause.”

“You still need a warrant even if you have probable cause,” Mr. Comb Over says.

Gerard’s eyebrows furrow together, because he’s been in this job for a long time now, and he’s absolutely positive that’s not true. Under some circumstances, not often, but exceptional circumstances such as this, he has every right to conduct a search without a warrant. His probable cause is pretty damn justified. Now if Gerard threw a brick through the window of that house and started looking around, it wouldn’t hold up in court, but he’s literally looking at a car filled with bombs, so he’s got the justice system by his side on this one.

“You sir, no very little about the American legal system, but it’s okay, because you’ll have plenty of time to brush up on it when you’re on trial.”

“It seems to me that you’ve misjudged your standings, officer.”

“That’s special agent to you!” Gerard corrects, and he has no idea why he’s being so technical.

“Whatever. I’m the one with the bombs,” Mr. Comb Over says.

“Well, look at it this way,” Gerard says, reaching around his back and grabbing his gun, “I’m the one with the gun, and the training with how to deal with bombs. And I’m really fucking pissed off today, so I’d appreciate it if you would stand down.”

“I’m the one with the bombs,” the man repeats with a glint in his eyes, like he’s enjoying this. The two men behind him both look pretty stunned. They’re both standing far enough away from the truck at the moment, that if they were to make an attempt to grab one, Gerard could shoot before they got there. Mr. Comb Over is a little too close to the car for Gerard’s liking though.

“You can say that all you want, but it’s not going to boost your credentials at all,” Gerard says, “I can’t let you leave this driveway, sir. I’m going to ask you to put your hands up, but you strike me as a guy who does not respect authority all that much.”

“Really? And I was trying so hard to hide it,” Mr. Comb Over says. Gerard starts disliking him even more, because on top of being a potential mass murderer, sociopath, and nightmare hair-stylist, he’s also a snarky little bitch.

“You make my job a million times harder, you know that? Listen, I’m not going to let you leave with that number of explosives, end of story. I’m just not going to let it happen. You’re threatening not only everyone on this street, but yourself and associates included, so if you just put your hands up right now, things will be a lot less messy, okay?”

“But we both know I’m not going to do that.”

“I have a gun though, and right now you’re threatening my personal safety, as well as my partners and everyone on this block. So either you show me your hands, or I show your friends what the inside of your cranium looks like.”

“You don’t want to do that.”

“Oh I don’t?” Gerard asks. He looks over to Frank as if to ask for backup, but he’s cowering like a little kid in a haunted house who lost his parents. Gerard scolds him and gives him an evil look, to tell him to at least get his gun out for god’s sake. Frank hesitates, but reaches for his weapon, and then holds it out with a shaky grip that would intimidate no one. Gerard wants to shoot _Frank_ right now, because the safety is still on, so he might as well be holding a water pistol for all the good it will do him if things happen quickly.

“You really don’t,” Mr. Comb Over says, and then he unveils some weaponry of his own in the form of, predictably, a bomb. “You shoot me, I drop this, and everyone on this street goes down.”

“I really dislike you,” Gerard hisses at him. He looks at the bomb in his hand, a scrappily made pipe bomb. It may be shitty in quality, but if it was made properly, it will still do the trick. Gerard would really rather not find out if it was made properly or not.

“Well then, we’ve reached an impasse. I am not going to let you out of this driveway for the life of me, and you’re not going to come quietly,” Gerard says.

“I have much more in my defense though, so who’s got the upper hand? Me, with my dozens of bombs, and two able bodied allies, or you with your little gun, and little kid who hasn’t taken his gun off safety,” Mr. Comb Over says.

Gerard huffs and looks over at Frank like this is all his fault. Frank’s eyes widen to really solidify his puniness, and Gerard wonders what he ever did to get stuck in such an awful position. He would literally take a chipmunk with a machinegun over Frank.

“Let me lay this out for you though,” Gerard says, and then he looks behind Mr. Comb Over at the two men behind him. The bigger man is well into his forties, and he doesn’t have the most kind looking mannerism about him. He doesn’t look easily intimidated, and for the time being, Gerard’s going to forget about him. The other guy is young though, he can’t be any older than Gerard, so he’s around twenty five. He looks a lot less confident than the other two as well, so Gerard knows the second he lays eyes on the guy that he’s found the weak link. If he’s going to get to one of them, he’s going to get to the young guy.

“I want you to think about what you’re doing,” Gerard says, and he’s looking at Mr. Comb Over, but he’s speaking to the youngest guy, “I’m a federal agent. You know what that means? Already, you’re in a worse boat then if I were NYPD, but I’m not. Federal prison is a completely different thing then state prison. I’m going to lay out your future for you, if I can. Right now, where we’re standing, you’re looking at a minimum of 30 years, no ifs, ands, or buts. There is no way in hell you will serve any less than 30 years. That is my guarantee. If your bomb results in even one fatality, you can say goodbye to freedom. You will serve life, no question. If either my partner or I die, you will get both prison and the risk of a nice cocktail of Sodium thiopental, pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride. If more than one person dies the same applies to if one of us dies. Your only chance, and I do mean, only chance is if you surrender to federal custody now. I can offer you a deal to reduce your sentence, but only if you take it. That’s all I can offer you. I don’t want to see anybody dead, but I’m not going to let you hurt a bunch of innocent people.”

“You seem to think I don’t know the risks,” Mr. Comb Over says, “and I don’t intend to serve any sentence.”

“I know you don’t,” Gerard says, because that was always something he assumed. This is a suicide mission, Mr. Comb Over knows that, but the question is whether his partners do.

“I don’t want you to ruin your life,” Gerard says, shaking his head, “I’ve done this job for several years, and I’ve seen so many people throw all their potential down the drain, because they didn’t think things through, and I just want you to reconsider. I’m not the guy that talks people down from this, I’m just a field agent. I run a really fucking dysfunctional team with a bunch of weirdos who barely listen to me, but I still believe that people are good. I don’t believe that you’re all awful people, I believe that life’s got you in a bad place right now, but I don’t think that means you have to throw it all away. You can still have a life, but only if you take my deal now. As much as this offer is about my hope for the well-being of innocent civilians, it’s also for you. I’m a cynic, and I’ll admit to that. I’m a bit of a pessimist, and I’ve seen so many shitty things in my life, it would fuel the nightmares of Hannibal Lecter, but I still don’t want you ruining your life.”

Frank is honestly astounded that Gerard is so good with words, because _he_ almost feels like surrendering to the guy right now. His fear is still there, but now there’s a little bit of hope that maybe one of the three men in front of him can find their humanity.

“Those were all very beautiful words, but I’m going to have to decline,” Mr. Comb Over says.

“I’m disappointed to hear that, but I wasn’t really talking to you,” Gerard says, and then he directs his gaze directly at the youngest. “Listen, I know that sometimes people give you these tantalizing offers, and it’s hard to turn them down, but you have to realize that you don’t need to be this person. You’ve got the most life ahead of you. You’ve got the most to lose. These guys, they don’t care about you. They’re not your friends. I’m the only friend you’ve got right now, because I don’t believe you’re a bad human being, I believe that you’re lost, and that you’re scared. I’m trying to offer you your life, and you’re not going to get a better deal than the one I’m offering you now.”

“Why should I listen to you?” he asks, speaking up for the first time.

“Because I’m the one offering you life. These guys will throw you away like you’re nothing, but I’m the one who’s asking you if you want to live after today. If you don’t want to live, then fine, go ahead, set these bombs off, but if you do, then I’m here to offer you a way out.”

Mr. Comb Over turns his head for only a second, because he can’t look away from Gerard for too long, but he does look back for a moment. Long enough to give the young guy a look of complete disgust.

Gerard continues, because he’s pretty sure he’s spiked the young guys interest, he just needs to seal the deal, “It’s embarrassing to be the guy to give up, and I know that, but what’s worse? Being the guy who walks away from the plans, or being the guy who dies because of peer pressure.”

Frank decides that he’s of no use right now. Gerard’s in his element, and he knows what he’s doing. Frank can only get in the way. Then he realizes that he does raise no threat, so that means no one is actually looking at him. He’s basically not even here right now. Frank reaches around his back for his phone, and feels relief when he finds it in his back pocket. He can’t do much to help right now, but he can call for help. No one is looking his way, so this is what he has to offer. Inconspicuously, Frank peers at his phone and scrolls through the contact list until he finds someone helpful. Brendon will work. He calls Brendon, and then hopes that Brendon is smart enough to figure out that they need his help without the words. Frank may be going unnoticed, but he can’t really call anyone, because if he does, he’s basically asking to be blown up. This is his chance to do something effective.

“I can’t keep the offer on the table forever. I’m a federal agent, but I’m not a judge. I can’t give you any security if I don’t have an answer in the few minutes,” Gerard says, peering behind Mr. Comb Over, “if you want to die, than I can’t stop you. If you don’t want to die, then all you need to do is walk towards me with your hands up.”

“If he goes, than I drop this bomb.”

“No you won’t. We both know you’re holding that bomb as a last resort. If I threaten your mission past a certain extent, than you _will_ drop that bomb, and I believe that you will, I do. But if you lose one guy, then you’re still on top. Letting him go will still allow you a period of time where I might decide to back off, and that’s what you want from me. What [ _I_ want, is to go home tonight so that I can catch up on Parks and Recreation. What Frank wants,” Gerard gestures to Frank, “is to go home tonight so that he can sleep in his own bed rather than in the one over in that house we’ve been squatting in to watch you guys.”

“That’s true,” Frank nods.

“I just want a happy ending.”

The young guy, starts shaking his head, and he looks at Mr. Comb Over. In that moment, Gerard knows he’s won him over. He knows that he’s won this small battle, and that’s enough for him right now.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, and Gerard feels himself sigh a little bit. “I don’t want to die.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Gerard says.

“You don’t want to do that,” Mr. Comb Over warns.

“Who are you to tell him what he wants. He’s being sensible,” Gerard says, as the guy makes his way, very slowly towards Gerard and Frank. “The instinct to survive is usually the strongest one a person has, so what’s different about you two?”

The young guy, whose name Gerard still doesn’t know, walks past the leader very slowly. While Mr. Comb Over gives him an incredibly threatening look, he doesn’t do anything. The world stops as he slowly inches nearer, and Frank takes the initiative to grab his hands to restrain him. It seems to be a perfect scenario, but it plays out faultlessly. They get him in handcuffs without a problem, and Gerard feels himself breathe out with relief. 

“One down, two to go,” Frank says quietly, as he looks back up at the scene. He hopes Gerard can do this, and he hopes Brendon is on his way to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jasmin just wanted to say that she's sorry that it took so long to update last time, and that she hopes it doesn't happen again.


	15. They Told You to Stay Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epic cliffhanger.

The young guy they got to surrender seems to have relaxed a little since taking his place next to, or more accurately behind, Gerard. The leader, Mr. Comb Over, on the other hand, seems to want to throttle him with his bare hands. It's obvious that without the young guy, they're almost nothing. Half the brains of the operation has just left, and they're dangling by a thread. Who could blame the guy for yielding though? Gerard has a way with words.

"You're a dead man, kid," the leader says through his teeth. The kid actually looks pretty scared, so Gerard decides to step in.

"No, actually, _you're_ a dead man. The kid here has just surrendered, and will receive no further punishment. Nothing like what you’re facing like, I don't know, life in prison?" Gerard says sarcastically, successfully reassuring the kid. He can’t guarantee this kid much freedom, but his sentence was just cut by quite a bit for listening to Gerard. He’ll probably see the sun sometime in the next ten to fifteen years at least, which is more than the other two guys will be getting.

Frank, though, is almost at his wits. He's pretty sure the only thing keeping him there on the spot is the unbearable thought of Gerard teasing him with digs about his first time out on the field. Oh, and the fact that him and everyone on the block might get fucking _killed_ if he's not careful.

"Yeah right. Can't go to prison if I'm dead. Right asshole?" Mr. Comb Over says in a mocking voice. 

"Yeah," The bigger guys says, playing a long with his boss. He puts on a smug smirk, dripping with terror. Frank and Gerard simultaneously roll their eyes. Suddenly, this feels exactly like high school.

“Alright, here's what's gonna go down-”

They're suddenly interrupted by the voice of Brendon. Franks not sure he's ever heard anything so beautiful. For one thing, Brendon’s voice is actually quite nice, and for another, he’s actually there at all, and Frank couldn’t be happier about that.

"Hello gentlemen," Brendon cuts in smoothly, giving Gerard and Frank a _look_ , and then he says bitingly, “If I may intrude. Thanks for calling for backup guys. Really, you are truly model FBI agents. Just top notch. Gerard, how ever did you come to be my boss, I’ll never know. Could’ve gotten yourself killed, you dumbasses.”

"Who the hell is this guy? Is this a fucking party?" Mr. Comb Over says, jerking his chin up at Brendon, before Gerard or Frank can say anything in their defense.

“And yet no one brought champagne,” Gerard murmurs to himself, trying to keep his aim steady on Mr. Comb Over. His trigger finger is as calm as anyone could hope, but he keeps double checking.

No one else followed behind him, but if Brendon’s here than maybe Hayley and Patrick are on their way. Gerard hopes for fucks sake that someone had the good sense to call the bomb squad.

"Forgive me, we haven't been introduced. I'm special agent Brendon Urie. We were wondering if you gentlemen could kindly make our jobs much easier and, like, put the arsenal away. Less death, more families rejoicing for their lives, a whole lot of time saved on paperwork, and god do I hate paperwork," he cuts himself off with a laugh, "It would make this less, well... messy,"

“Like I’m scared of the Feds,” Mr. Comb Over says, “we all know how this is going to end, and for god’s sake, you’re doing yourselves no amount of acclaim or honor by being this stupid. Do you brainless shit heads really think you can do anything to stop us? We're the ones with the bombs, if you hadn't noticed!”

“I should probably announce at this point that there’s a particularly attractive lady behind me, looking at us through a window, and her gun is a lot bigger than this one,” Brendon says, and he brings out his own glock, “and she’s also got the best fucking aim of anyone you’re ever likely to come across.”

“He’s holding a bomb, Brendon!” Gerard snaps, “Hayley knows that right?”

“She’s not dumb, of course she knows that, but the problem is that that guy right there,” Brendon points to the big man, still standing rather precariously in the driveway behind Mr. Comb Over, “doesn’t have a bomb on him. He’s got nothing.”

The big man’s eyes widen to an unimaginable size, and Gerard smiles a little bit. Usually he tries not to kill people, he’s only shot a few people in his entire career, which is more than the staggering number of heads Brendon has at zero. Hayley’s got a good reputation though as being probably the best marksman in the entire state. There’s a few traveling snipers, who go around to assist on cases, but for a field agent, Hayley is the one to beat. She’s the one who’s good with a gun though, which means that she’s got more bodies stacked in her name than anyone else on the team, besides maybe Gerard.

Frank could almost cry, he's so relieved. He suddenly feels more confident, so he stands up taller and straightens his arms. Gerard just looks at him through narrowed eyes, as if he could read his mind, and cuts a look at him that screams, ‘ _keep your shit together, Iero_.’ Gerard wants to ask how on earth Brendon knew to come, but assumes he’s going to have to thank Frank later if he lives to find the time to do so. He doesn’t want to, but Frank did do something right at least.

Gerard chips in, “and the problem is that you don’t know what angle she’s going to shoot you from, big guy. So you don’t know where to hide.”

“Don’t you dare,” Mr. Comb Over says to his only ally left, but Gerard can tell that they’ve hit some sort of chord in the guy. 

A door behind Gerard’s team slams, and then Patrick’s running over to them, faster than you’d think he could given how short he is. He comes up behind Brendon, who’s got his hands securing the young guy that they already got to surrender. Patrick runs up behind him and whispers something in Brendon’s ear out of earshot from anyone else.

Gerard turns to look at Brendon as Patrick does so, and Brendon gives him a nod. That’s all he needs for confirmation in knowing that the bomb squad is on their way.

All this happens very quickly and then Patrick’s taking Brendon’s place of supervising over their captive. Brendon then takes a stance nearer to Frank.

At this point, Frank’s breath has started to level out a little bit. They’ve essentially checked off two of the baddies, and have only one left to deal with.

“I’m not in the mood to play games, so either you put your hands up and walk toward me, or so help me god, I will put a bullet in your head, and I won’t fucking regret it,” Gerard warns the big guy, wishing he knew their names. There’s the big guy, and Mr. Comb Over. Mr. Comb Over is the leader, and he’s not giving in anytime soon. The big guy though, he’s defenseless. If Gerard can’t get the big guy to surrender, than he doesn’t feel remorse for shooting him.

“Just answer me one thing,” Gerard says, “Before I give the order. Before I let them kill you. Who is he to you? Who is this dunderhead with the Trump-esque comb over? Why listen to him if it will only lead to your death? Sure you were prepared to die today, but do you maybe want to give that a second thought? Wanna reconsider? Do you have kids that will miss you? How about a wife? Siblings? Mr. Radical over here, he’s got you dancing in the palm of his hand, and he doesn’t give a shit about you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Mr. Comb Over says.

“Yeah, because if you listen too hard I’ll pull my Jedi mind tricks out on you,” Gerard scoffs, “but really think about this. You’re going to die, and that’s a guarantee, but do you realize what happens if you die? You’re going to stop existing, and that’s it. There will be news articles about this for weeks, if not months. There are five FBI agents in this area, and if so much as one of us were to die, we’d be making headlines for a very long time. Now add all the innocent civilians. Little kids live on this street. Little girls who poison their families with creations they made in their Easy Bake Ovens. Probably some little boys who’ve done the same thing. There’s parents here, and just good people. You’ll kill all of them if you don’t stand down to me. You will make headlines too. But yours will be in infamy. The whole world is going to know your name, and know that you died a villain. You died a mass murderer. I will not let you leave this neighborhood, and that’s my promise. So either let me take you in at the end of the day, or let me have my agents turn you into Swiss cheese.”

The big guy looks to be considering Gerard’s words for a long moment. When he makes u his mind he gives little more than a shake of the head, but Gerard lets out a sigh of contempt. 

He turns his head ever so slightly to the side, and says to Brendon, “Tell Hayley to fire.”

Gerard hates giving orders like that. It’s probably the worst part of his job, because even if it’s a bad person, he doesn’t like having people dead.

Brendon and Gerard do have somewhat of their own language. It’s always good if partners do, because you always need a code word for danger. Something for if things go wrong, teams need those. Gerard never thought to give those to Frank. Frank doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say when things go sour. Brendon and Gerard have a few of their own though, that aren’t strictly sanctioned.

The most important are hand gestures. If Gerard holds up one finger behind his back, that means ‘go for the kill.’ Two fingers means ‘don’t aim for a kill shot.’ Three fingers means, ‘bluff.’ Four fingers is ‘do the opposite of what I said.’ They’ve never had to use five fingers, but that means, ‘unleash all hell.’

Behind Gerard’s back he gives Brendon two fingers.

Brendon clears his throat, grabs his walkie-talkie, and quietly sends an order to Hayley.

The next few seconds pass slower than any amount of time has ever passed. It takes about a century for anything to even happen. Gerard trusts his team, so he doesn’t move, and Frank has the good sense to stay put as well.

Then it’s just a matter of seconds before there’s a bang that can be heard loudly, even from where Gerard stands. He doesn’t flinch when he hears it, because that would just be an open opportunity for him to accidentally step in front of a bullet.

The big guy falls down almost instantly and Gerard smiles, because he’s not dead. Not yet anyway. He may not walk again, because Gerard’s fairly sure that Hayley just blew apart his knee cap, but he is still alive. As long as they get him help sometime soon, he’ll probably live.

“Pansy shot,” Mr. Comb Over says, when he turns to see what happened to his goon.

“No, I just don’t want to see a lot of people die today. I’m a fed, sure, everyone hates me. The cops hate me, you hate me, gangs hate me, everyone hates the feds, but one thing I’m not, is heartless,” Gerard says. Frank tries to tune out Gerard, because something about how good he is at this job is turning him the fuck on. Now’s not the time for that, but if he does live through this, he wants to get into Gerard’s pants again. _Really_ wants to get into Gerard’s pants again.

“ _Think Iero, think! Alright alright, when held up in a situation like this, what do you do? Um, observe your surroundings,_ ” Frank looks around to spot his team, brave faces set on maximum, but their eyes do not shield the fear there. 

“ _What do I know about bombs?_ ” He cuts a look at the bulky, obviously homemade bomb. He takes a look at the wiring, and the clunky material is not helping him. He tries to get a good look at it. 

“ _Okay, red wire connects to... what does the red wire connect to?_ ” Frank is trying desperately to remember what he learned about bombs, but he can’t remember jack shit.

Mr. Comb Over seems to feel his gaze and looks at Frank. Noticing his eyes on the bomb, he turns it over, trying to dislodge Frank’s stare. Instead, Frank sees all he's needed to. With the memory of his cranky old professor's face in his mind, he has the stencil of a textbook page in his head. He may not be Gerard, but maybe he knows a little something about profiling too. Frank hopes to everything he's ever believed in, that he's not wrong just this one time in his life. This once, and he’ll never hope to be right again. Just this once.

Abruptly, Frank closes the distance between him and Mr. Comb Over, his heart pounding. He’s trying to block everything out of his head that he possibly can. He faintly hears the panicked and furious shouts of his name, but his mind is set on one thing. If he’s wrong, Gerard is going to kill him... actually if he’s wrong they’ll all be dead. 

Frank is facing the man in a matter of seconds, and he makes eye contact for a fraction of that time before he’s snatching. He tries to pull the bomb out of the guy's hands, but then it slips out of both their hands.

Gerard was wrong. This is the slowest time has ever passed.

Frank hears a universal gasp, but he doesn’t have time to consider it. He thinks back to the first time he saw Captain America, and he remembers when Steve jumped on that grenade. Grenades are different than bombs, but maybe, just maybe, he can absorb the force of the blow. He might be able to dull it enough not to set off the rest of the bombs, enough to save some lives. Here’s his chance to take one for the team.

Frank joined the FBI to be selfless, to save lives. If he’s right, today is a good day. If he’s wrong, then Gerard will attend his funeral, and Frank might almost enjoy haunting Gerard’s ass.

As Frank throws himself on top of the bomb, every last atom of his body screaming in protest, he thinks nothing. He sees nothing, feels nothing, and hears nothing. The only thing he knows is that he has less than a second to know just how stupid his sacrifice is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment? Please? We appreciate it!


	16. Walk the Tight Rope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter!

Frank knows he was right when he opens his eyes a second later. He has to be alive if he’s able to even open his eyes, and to open his eyes that must also mean he was right. The bomb was a dud, and thank fuck for that.

Frank’s heart rate is faster than it ever has been in his entire life. He could run a marathon and not be breathing this heavily. That was terrifying. When he looks up he watches Brendon as he pushes Mr. Comb Over to the ground.

Everything is a rush right now. Mr. Comb Over is being handcuffed, the big guy is crying about his leg, while Patrick looks down at him with some mix of sympathy and disgust. Frank doesn’t know why he looks sympathetic, because the guy just tried to kill all of them, but he’s not going to question it, because this is Patrick.

Frank looks up and he sees Gerard. He’s just staring at Frank with the strangest expression he’s ever seen. His eyebrows are looking at him like he’s disgusted, but he also looks completely amazed. Gerard just looks speechless in every sense of the word. He can’t even move right now, he’s so dumbfounded.

“Frank that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen anyone do ever,” Brendon says to him as he walks down the driveway, with Mr. Comb Over in tow. “And thanks for it.”

“Uh, yeah,” Frank says, and he pulls himself up onto his knees for a moment. He’s still not exactly sure what he just did. He thinks he just sacrificed himself, and given the fact that he didn’t know what was going to happen, he could’ve died. He’s not dead though. He still can’t believe it.

“Frank, you...” Gerard starts, but then he forgets what he was going to say. It doesn’t make sense that Frank just did what he did. Gerard’s in shock, because how is it possible to be so stupid and simultaneously be heroic? Gerard hates the fact that he has to use the word ‘heroic’ for what Frank just did. The guy just jumped on a _bomb_ , not knowing if it was _active_ or not.

“Yeah?” Frank asks, as he pulls himself up from the pavement. He brushes himself off, because he’s got some dirt on his jeans. Also it feels appropriate given the circumstances, not that he’s cool or anything, but it makes him feel like an action hero.

“Just,” Gerard says, and he does not want to compliment this guy. The last thing he wants to do is thank Frank, or say anything nice to him until the end of time. He would rather bite off his own tongue then say something nice to Frank. The guy just risked his own life for Gerard’s though! And other people too, but Gerard is among those people who would have died if that had been a real bomb and Frank hadn’t jumped on it.

“Just, uh,” Gerard tries again, and then he huffs and decides to just say it, “that was a really, um, like, g-good thing to do.”

Frank raises an eyebrow at him, “What was that?”

“I’m not going to say it again,” Gerard snaps, then softer he mumbles, “Just, yeah.”

Gerard stares at Frank for a few moments before he walks over to talk to Patrick and the big guy who’s bleeding onto the tarmac pretty heavily. Frank watches Gerard as he walks away, a little stunned that Gerard even bothered to say something nice to him. That’s got to be one for the record books. Like seriously. He’s going to write down the date and time somewhere so that no one forgets. He probably still won’t believe it.

Frank doesn’t know where he’s needed right now. Everything seems pretty quiet all of a sudden. He watches Brendon sit the two men, Mr. Comb Over and the young guy who surrendered himself, down on the sidewalk.

Frank looks around to see that there are some neighbors who are moving around in their houses. They’re all getting ready for the day ahead, and a few people look over to see what all the commotion is about, but Hayley has come from nowhere to shepherd people away from the scene.

The day seems to be late already, even when Frank knows that it’s not even eight yet. It’s still so early, way too early for all of this to have happened. Eventually there’s the siren of an ambulance approaching, and when Frank hears it, he walks a little way down the driveway.

He doesn’t know where he’s wanted, but he doesn’t really want to go talk to Brendon, because he’s got two wannabe bombers with him. He doesn’t want to talk to Gerard either, but he trusts Patrick, so he makes his way nearer to him. Also he’s oddly fascinated by blood in a kind of creepy, but not really way. He just kind of is interested in the guy whose knee is bleeding like a bitch.

Patrick’s wrapped his knee in a towel, Frank’s not positive wear the towel came from, but maybe Ford Prefect is hanging around somewhere and gave it to him. Patrick seems like a frood who would really know where his towel is. The big guy has also been handcuffed to the mailbox, which doesn’t seem like the most dignified place to be handcuffed, but it could be worse.

“So what, uh, happens now?” Frank asks.

“Typical,” Gerard scoffs.

“Calm down, Gerard,” Patrick says, “We really should be clearing ourselves and everyone out of here, because at least some of those bombs are active, but this guy makes that kind of hard.”

“Oh,” Frank says.

“We’ll be clearing out as soon as the ambulance takes him away, and then this is the bombs squad’s job to deal with,” Gerard says, “I ain’t going to deal with that shit.”

“You also don’t have the clearance or the training to deal with the bombs,” Patrick points out.

“Whatever,” Gerard shrugs. He’s gone back to completely ignoring Frank, because apparently showing any form of appreciation is merit to then pretend he doesn’t exist.

Twenty minutes later they’re being sent away from the scene. They’re telling people it would be wise to evacuate, but most of the neighbors are looking on with more interest than actual fear. Frank doesn’t exactly protest to leaving. He’s ungodly tired, not having actually slept in over twelve hours, but he knows that he probably has more things to do involving paperwork. He thinks paperwork is completely overrated considering they just dealt with three fucking potential bombers, but he’s not complaining. At least not out loud.

While he starts walking over to Hayley, he recognizes that he only just got a taste of what he’s here to do. He wonders if he actually _wants_ to do this, and he realizes with certainty that this is exactly what he asked for. He looks down the street to the perfectly kept houses, and families lounging around under the rising sun, and smiles. He just saved all of these lives, along with his team, and he knows that this is what he was born to do. What he was _meant_ to do. Helping people in trouble, saving lives; it’s what he fantasized about growing up.

“Hey Frank,” Hayley says as she spots him, clapping him on the shoulder, “Nice work there. Stupid, but nice.” 

“Uh, thanks?” Frank asks.

“No problem, but since you deflected the bomb,” She smiles briefly, then grunts as she brings out a stack of paper work and Franks stares, horrified by the large amount, “these are yours, and they need to be filled out by Tuesday.”

Frank stares a second longer than necessary as he tries to remember what day it is. Tuesday comes after Monday, but it doesn’t feel like a Monday. Or is it? It could be a Thursday and he wouldn’t be the wiser.

“But that’s tomorrow!” he yells, looking at the paper work with a scared expression that turns into a snarl as he hears Gerard’s smug laugh.

“You want to be the hero, you gotta do the work,” Gerard says joyfully, walking past him into the house. For a split second, Frank wishes the bomb blew up in Gerard’s face as his arms start to scream in protest from the weight of the papers. Maybe it’s not actually that much, but Frank is tired and he isn’t anxious to do anything. 

“Fuck Gerard,” Frank exclaims. He frowns, and then he’s hit with an idea. He looks down at his watch and nods. Yeah, he should have time to fuck Gerard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've written the last chapter already, and we'll be posting that in a few days while we work on book three.


	17. I Don’t Think I Can Forget About It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Frank finds the time.

The office is dark and quiet because almost everyone has gone home. Most of them are just really glad to be going home to their actual beds, so Gerard really couldn’t blame them. He’s got a lot of paperwork to file by the next day, but he looks down at the papers and his head spins at the amount of work he really doesn’t want to do. Most of it is just signing his name, and taking responsibility for everything that happened the past few weeks.

Gerard had learned quickly that even though being the boss is nice, having all the liberty to tell people what to do and be in charge, it’s also infinitely more difficult than his old job. He’s the youngest team leader for several years, which means there’s a lot of pressure on him to do well. He doesn’t exactly mind the pressure, it’s the responsibility that he has to bear that worries him. Gerard’s basically at fault if anything goes wrong. If someone on his team gets shot, it’s his fault. If someone on his team shoots, it’s his fault. If anything at all happens, he’s got to take the responsibility.

The job is not exactly what he’d thought it would be, but he’s become comfortable in the position he holds. Some things are harder than others though. It’s hard being the guy who has to tell people that they’re husband or wife, or daughter or son is dead, and that’s all on him. That’s the worst part of his job. Worse than having a gun pointed at him, worse than fearing for his own life. It’s breaking the news to other people that hurts him the most.

Gerard looks out of his office and sees that most of the lights have been turned off. This office never really sleeps, there’s always people here, night and day, but it’s always lazy at this hour. Gerard’s gotten some middle of the night calls himself, so he knows that there is really no such thing as off the clock. Sometimes you’re not on call, but part of you is always on duty.

He looks out at the desks and sees a few people from other departments shuffling around their cubicles. He sees the top of Hayley’s head, and watches as she gathers her stuff to go. Gerard envies everyone leaving, but he has a few more papers to sort through.

One thing that Gerard really hates is the lull of the group after wrapping a case. There doesn’t seem to be anything to solve the yearning for something new. It’s not exactly like they’re hoping someone gets killed, or something gets held for ransom, but if it’s going to happen anyway, they like having something to do. There’s never a time where they aren’t doing anything, paperwork, or investigating, or being yelled at, or just generally ruining lives. There’s always another murder to solve. There’s always another drug cartel. There’s always another kidnapping, or robbery.

It’s only when Hayley’s disappeared through the elevator that Gerard sees Frank. He hadn’t realized Frank was still there, and it looks like he’d been hiding until Hayley left. Everyone else on the team has already gone, Patrick left a while ago, and Brendon sometime after him. Gerard had just assumed that Frank slipped away unnoticed.

Gerard hopes silently that Frank is going to leave, because the last thing he wants to do is talk to him again. He just wants to finish things up, and then go home. He wants to go to his own apartment, and sleep in his own bed, and pretend he never met Frank. He wants to pretend that Frank doesn’t exist, and that he doesn’t still remember what Frank felt like pressed up against him.

Gerard puts his head down and looks back at the papers in front of him. He tries to ignore Frank completely so that by the time he looks up, Frank will be gone. He wants nothing more than to kick Frank out of the office indefinitely, but he doesn’t exactly have that power. If he did have that power, he would use it in a second.

Eventually though, his paperwork has a final page. At least he didn’t need to do as much as Frank, but he’d had to put it off because he had a conference with the department director about the incident. Mainly he was asked about Frank and his heroics. Gerard had done his best to give credit where credit was due, even if it killed him to say nice things about Frank. Gerard is still a Federal Agent even if he hates Frank, and it’s his duty to be honest.

Gerard picks himself up from his desk and sighs, looking at the stack of paperwork. He walks around the desk, out of his office and then places the files in the bin outside his boss’ office. Gerard may be the lead agent on his team, but even he has superiors.

He turns and heads toward the elevator, wanting nothing more than to go home and have a nice long hot shower, before falling asleep in his own bed. 

“Hey Gerard,” A voice says and Gerard halts wanting to scream. He’d hoped so hard that Frank wasn’t there, but to no avail. Gerard turns, and tries to put the most unfriendly expression on his face.

“What is it?” Gerard asks.

“Well seeing as you’ve been avoiding me since this morning, I figured the only way to talk to you was to ambush you as you were leaving.”

Gerard huffs, and then continues walking, “What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m not done talking about what happened.”

“Well that’s unfortunate, because I _am_ done talking about it.”

Frank sighs, and gets up to follow Gerard to the elevator. He doesn’t seem to take the hint that Gerard wants him to go away, and instead follows behind him into the small enclosed box of the elevator. Gerard suddenly realizes how small it is, and his heart starts beating faster. He’s way too close to Frank, and there’s no escape for another minute until the elevator doors open again.

“So we have to talk about it sometime. We’re both adults, we have to take some responsibility,” Frank says.

“I think it’s better if we just pretend it didn’t happen,” Gerard says, staring at the door. He can feel Frank’s eyes surveying him, but he refuses to meet the gaze.

“But that’s not really the most effective thing to do,” Frank says.

“Well look at it this way, I don’t want any part of what happened to affect our interactions. It was a mistake that happened in a moment of weakness. I don’t want it to be something that defines me. I especially do not want to be the boss who slept with the new guy. I would never live that down. I could get fired, you could get fired, and it could ruin both of our lives. Considering there’s that much danger in what happened, it’s best that we just don’t talk about it.”

“Would we really lose our jobs?” Frank asks.

“I’m really not positive, but it’s possible. I’m not risking that over some silly little mistake we made. It’s in the past, and it’s going to stay there. There are rules with this job though. We can’t be emotionally compromised, romantically, mentally, or anyway else,” Gerard says. He’s looked over those rules a million times for some sort of loophole, but it’s pretty explicit. Some things you just need to keep hidden.

“Well than we don’t talk about it in the office,” Frank says.

“Well where else would we talk about it? I don’t ever want to see you outside of this office,” Gerard says, and then mercifully, the elevator doors open. Gerard makes his way out of the little room, slowly so as not to seem like he’s in a rush to get away from Frank, but obviously he is.

“Oh come on, you’re not that oblivious,” Frank says. Gerard doesn’t really want to pay attention to him, so he’s not really listening to Frank complexly.

“Oblivious to what?”

“Well you can’t exactly pretend that you didn’t like it,” Frank says, and Gerard almost trips. He stops himself from making an idiot of himself and looks at Frank for the first time since they got on the elevator.

“You’re kidding right?”

“Don’t act like that, I’m not blind,” Frank says. Gerard rolls his eyes and keeps walking until they’re in the parking garage. Frank can only barely keep up, because Gerard’s sped up.

“I just want to pretend it didn’t happen. I want to forget about it! Let’s pretend it never happened at all,” Gerard says.

“So you’re not going to go home tonight and think about me?” Frank asks.

“Nope.”

“Liar,” Frank says.

“I’m not lying,” Gerard replies.

“Yes you are, you’re lying,” Frank says, and Gerard doesn’t even realize that he’s standing in front of his car. He just knows that he wants to punch Frank in the face so much, and there’s nothing he can do about that desire. There’s also desire of another kind, that he’d hoped so much would have gone away by now, but it hasn’t. He wants to stop liking Frank, but that’s not something he can just cast away.

“W-why would I lie?” Gerard asks.

“Because you know you’re attracted to me, and you’re trying to deny that to yourself. I’m not nearly as childish as you are though, I accept my feelings, but can you?”

“I... did you just admit to being attracted to me?” Gerard asks. His hand has stopped on the handle of the door and he’s trying to figure out what kind of prank this is. There’s no way this is real. Maybe he’s on a TV show, or maybe Frank is going to embarrass him on YouTube, but there’s no way that this is an actual thing that’s actually happening.

“You’re slow, and one of the dumbest people I’ve ever come across in my entire life, but you’re also hot, so I’m not going to deny that,” Frank shrugs.

“Please tell me you’re not being serious,” Gerard hisses at him, looking around to make sure they’re alone.

“Why? Does that make you uncomfortable?” Frank smirks.

“N-no?” Gerard says. “What are you proposing?”

“I’m just saying that we don’t have to talk about it at work. We don’t have to talk about it at all, if you don’t want to, but we don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen either. And as long as no one knows, as long as we don’t talk about it, why does it have to be a onetime thing?”

Frank is getting uncomfortably close, and Gerard’s just trying to keep his thoughts sorted so that he doesn’t end up screaming or babbling. He’s having trouble getting any connection to his brain, so he’s basically on his own with a tongue that doesn’t know how to form sentences.

“Whaaa-” is all that Gerard can manage, and Frank snickers at him, with a diabolical glint in his eye. Usually people who you hate and want to see with an axe embedded in their skull, aren’t the kind of people who you also want to take their pants off. Frank is both of those things to Gerard though.

“How articulate. What do you think though?”

“I don’t want to talk about this here,” Gerard manages to enunciate.

“Where _do_ you want to talk about it?”

“Uh...”

“Your apartment?” Frank suggests.

Gerard wants so much to just tell Frank to fuck off. He wants to tell him that he’s being a dick, and that the very thought of him makes Gerard want to puke. He wants to say that so much, but he knows it wouldn’t be true, and from the look Frank is giving him, he knows it’s untrue as well.

“Su-sure,” Gerard says, because that’s all he can really say. Frank sneers again, and raises an eyebrow.

There’s really nothing he can do to stop Frank getting into his car, and he just doesn’t have the strength to tell him to go away anyway. It’s an animalistic feeling for him, because Frank is just a piece of meat at this point, but he just wants this. He wants it a lot.

So Gerard gets in the car, because he can’t think of any reason why not to. Frank’s right though. As long as they don’t talk about it, why should they stop?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so next book is called "Stuck in the Middle." We don't have a summary quite yet, but you can expect that soon.


End file.
